


Darkness Falls

by SpoonyLupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Family Feels, Friendship/Love, Gen, Male Bonding, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoonyLupin/pseuds/SpoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, but its effects still linger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> The quotes from Voldemort and Remus are taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling.

It was dark. So dark that he could hardly see a thing. Perhaps that was just as well, because he wasn’t entirely sure that he _wanted_ to see anything. His other senses were enough to tell him that much.

People were screaming, yelling out in pain and anguish. It was almost enough to force Harry to wish he were deaf so he didn’t have to hear it any longer. It made him cringe and raise his hands up to cover his ears in an attempt to block it out, but it didn’t do any good. Even pressing his palms over his ears as tightly as he could - so much so that it was almost painful - did nothing to mute the cries of the people around him. If anything, they only seemed magnified, almost like they were coming from inside his own head, which didn’t make any sense at all.

And dear Merlin, the _smell_. It reminded Harry distinctly of Fenrir Greyback when the hulking werewolf had attacked him in sixth year. It was blood, and sweat, and dirt mixed together, and if Harry wasn’t going completely crazy, he thought he could smell death somewhere in there too. He wasn’t even sure what death would smell like, but for some reason, he felt like this was it - a distinctly sour and rotting smell on top of everything else.

Even though he still couldn’t see anything, Harry shut his eyes and opened his mouth to suck in a shaking cry. But that proved to be a mistake. Even the air _tasted_ like death - overwhelmingly salty and bitter. It traveled into the back of his throat and backed up into his nose, making him cough on it. His eyes burned and watered, and it felt like he was choking on mere air, as ridiculous as that was.

Harry shook his head in an attempt to get away from it for all the good it did, because there was no escaping it. That horrid, horrible putrid smell was all around him, invading his senses. He could almost imagine it seeping into his very skin, something he didn’t think he’d ever be able to wash off. He removed a hand from his ear and slapped it over his mouth instead, but it only seemed to catch the smell of decay inside him, making him cough even more violently.

Harry’s legs suddenly felt like they were full of jelly. His knees were bending, caving in against his will, and before he knew it, the ground was rushing up to meet him. He threw his hands out to catch himself, but then he wished he hadn’t done that. He thought he felt grass in between his fingers, but it was covered in something warm and sticky. Pulling his hands away in shock, his knees met the ground only to feel the same wet stickiness seeping into the legs of his trousers. Harry didn’t have to think very long about what it was, because the closer he brought his hands to his face, the stronger the smell became - blood.

Harry retched violently, his stomach convulsing painfully around nothing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but it had apparently been a while, because nothing came up. Just spit and after a while, stomach acid, because it burned his throat, adding to the acrid taste already there. Harry planted his hands into the ground once more in an effort to find some sort of support. And then he felt it. The first solid thing he’d come into contact with in this nightmare, something that he could actually grasp and hold onto and - dare he hope for it? - find comfort in. It was someone’s hand. He wasn’t sure whose yet, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. It was a person, an actual person, which meant that he wasn’t in this alone. Whatever “this” was.

But he knew. Deep down, he knew. He had been there way too many times before. It was the feel, the smell, the taste, the sound of war.

He stilled, clutching the hand of his unknown companion until the spasms in his stomach ceased. Harry coughed a few more times and wiped a trail of spittle from his chin. However, he had coughed and retched so much it occurred to him that there might be some blood there too, but he tried not to think about that now.

Then the next realization invaded his mind so quickly, it was like being punched in the stomach. Whoever’s hand he was holding, it wasn’t moving. The fingers were limp and lifeless in his own. It was as dead and used up as everything else in this world. Harry continued to tell himself that he didn’t know who it belonged to, but that wasn’t entirely true anymore either. In the time he had been holding it, something else occurred to him. That hand, those long and gentle fingers were familiar to him. And the wedding ring. The one that - if his assumptions were correct - had only been there for less than a year.

Harry still didn’t want to know if he was right or not, but at the same time, he felt like he had to know. For some reason beyond him, he felt compelled to investigate further. Damn that blasted Gryffindor bravery.

Still gripping the lifeless hand tightly in his right hand, Harry reached out his left one, feeling blindingly into the darkness for anything to prove or disprove his suspicions. His hand met soft and worn robes, and those were familiar to him too. Harry didn’t need any further proof - he’d recognize that old fabric anywhere, because he normally always found comfort in it. This was the first time that it filled him with complete and utter terror.

“Remus?” Harry gasped out. His chest felt so tight, he almost suspected that someone had put a Full Body Bind on when he wasn’t paying attention.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Harry’s eyes suddenly seemed like they were adjusting to the darkness. He thought he could make out the beginnings of shapes in front of him. Harry found himself wishing he was blind as well as deaf, because he really didn’t want to see what was in front of him. Not at all.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to avoid it, but an odd feeling swept over him. It was as if he was physically incapable of keeping his eyes closed, because he kept opening them. Every time he did, he could make out more of the shapes surrounding him, which caused him to snap his eyes shut once more. And then just as before, they opened yet again, like his eyelids were being pulled apart by some unseen force.

He could definitely see Remus’s body now, his head thrown back against the grass, his unmoving eyes staring up at the sky above them unblinkingly. But then Harry realized why he could actually see things now - the nearly full moon reflected in Remus’s eyes, evidencing the growing light source. Where in the hell had that come from? It must have been hidden behind clouds only to make itself known at the most inopportune time. Of course.

Just beyond Remus, Harry noticed another unmoving figure lying in the grass. It didn’t take Harry long to figure who that shape belonged to. The bubblegum pink hair was beginning to stand out obnoxiously bright in the otherwise dim and very depressing surroundings.

Harry sank down, the heels of his shoes digging painfully into his backside. He sat in that position for so long, his feet were beginning to go numb, that pins and needles feeling slowly creeping up his ankles into his legs. Harry barely even noticed this, he was so transfixed by the scene in front of him. He figured he must be in shock, because he couldn’t figure out any other explanation for why he was just remaining there unmoving.

Nothing felt quite real to him anymore. Perhaps the images in front of him had truly caused him to go insane, because he didn’t even know if he was or would ever be capable of understanding what this meant. It didn’t quite make any sense to him. Not anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry awoke with a start. He gasped in breath after breath of air, only to be surprised when it came freely and easily into his lungs. Gone was the horrible stench and taste of the putrid air from his dream, the tightness and burning sensation that had been gripping his body just a few moments before.

He was bathed in sweat, his skin crawling from the droplets of perspiration creeping along his body. As soon as he opened his eyes, they began to burn, the sweat from even his eyelids dripping down into them as well. With a shaking hand, Harry wiped furiously at his face, desperate to drive away that creepy crawly feeling.

It was still dark. So dark, just like it had been in his dream, but Harry didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the plus side, it meant he didn’t have to see anything, anything that might be a leftover residual from his dream, lurking in the blackened corners of his bedroom to haunt him even further. Then again, a part of Harry wanted to be able to see so he could at least convince himself that there _wasn’t_ anything there. Things like that only happened in dreams, after all. The boogeyman was never there when you woke up. Only when you were in the clutches of your own nightmare world.

If he was well and truly awake that was. It wouldn’t be the first time that Harry had been confused over something seemingly so simple. Perhaps that was what was the most terrifying about this entire experience - he wasn’t entirely sure anymore where his nightmares stopped and his real world began. The two were beginning to intertwine so much with each other, they were becoming indistinguishable.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if he was truly losing it. If the effects, the loss from the war had simply been too great for his mind to handle.

Unable to lie there anymore, questioning his own sanity for about the billionth time, Harry sat up. He threw the covers back and turned sideways, letting his legs drop over the edge of the mattress. He flinched slightly when his feet came into contact with the cold wooden floor. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands, wondering when the war was truly ever going to be over.

Oh, there was no more fighting going on. Harry had dealt that last, fatal spell to Voldemort eight months before, and whoever had remained of the Death Eaters had crumbled without him. But that didn’t mean the war itself was over. Not really. Because Harry still felt as if he was fighting another battle altogether, one that remained in his head, one that made him wonder if he really even knew what was happening at all.

There were exceptions to the rule, however. No matter which world he was in - this one or his still war-riddled nightmare - a few things always remained the same. The most important people to him were always absent from them, or else they were nothing more than limp dead bodies before him. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Tonks, Remus…Nothing ever brought them back. Not even his dreams.

They were well and truly gone.

And that always made Harry think of Teddy. Harry was an adult, he was capable of taking care of himself now (if this nightmare world he constantly lived in could be called that, of course). Harry thought of the Weasleys too, going on without one half of the twins, but at least they had each other to lean on through this. Teddy was just a little baby, not even a year old, and the only family he had left in the world was his grandmother. This bloody war had doomed Harry’s godson to the very grim reality that Harry himself had gone through - growing up and going through life without his parents.

This thought never failed to make Harry feel guilty. Remus and Tonks had given their lives in the war, and while Harry had never expected any less of them if it came down to it, Harry still felt responsible. There was one moment, one sentence that always echoed in his mind when he began feeling sorry for himself. One that had come from Voldemort himself during the final battle:

_“You have permitted your friends to die for your rather than face me yourself.”_

It was like Voldemort was still in his mind, still speaking to Harry, still criticizing him for what he assumed had been cowardice on Harry’s part. Harry never wanted anyone to die for him, least of all his friends! Harry had tried his hardest that night to find the last of the Horcruxes, to destroy Voldemort before anyone else had to die. He just hadn’t been good enough.

Ever since that night, Harry had painstakingly gone over every step in his mind, everything that had led up to the fall of Voldemort. If only he had done some things better, if only he had been faster, if only he’d had more of a plan before he’d decided to storm Hogwarts…

If only, if only, if only. The words bounced around in his head incessantly. And then came Remus’s words, the very last thing Remus had ever said to him:

_“I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”_

A choked sob escaped from Harry’s throat, and he pressed his palms against his eyes almost painfully. How was this supposed to be _happier_ for Teddy? How was any child supposed to be happy without their parents? Harry found it ironic that Remus had been trying to comfort Harry, only to have those words haunt him every single night since.

Harry tried to remind himself that that hadn’t been Remus, not really. It had been nothing but an illusion from the Resurrection Stone, but that thought did very little to comfort him. Harry wasn’t sure which was worse - that he had depended so much upon that Resurrection Stone while he walked to his death, or the thought of walking into the forest for the last time completely and utterly alone, without so much as a ghost to comfort him.

Now he knew why the Resurrection Stone could cause madness. Not that Harry blamed his current state of mind on it, but he thought he might have been better of without it altogether - without “Remus‘s“ last words hanging over him.

When Harry woke up on these nights after a nightmare, it was always the same - the same vicious thought processes over and over again. The very same ideas haunting him. The very same regrets making him feel like the world’s biggest con artist. A hero indeed. A true hero would have been able to save more people than he had.

Harry sobbed again, and then came a soft rustling sound from behind him.

“Harry?”

The question was always the same - his name spoken in that gentle tone of hers. The one that normally could have soothed his cries alone, but which did little on the nights like these after the war. His answer was always the same too.

“Why did they have to die?”

She never knew who exactly he meant by that. Sometimes it was his parents. Sometimes Sirius, and Dumbledore, and Fred. More often than not, however, he meant Remus and Tonks. If one thing haunted Harry more than any other, it was that he had robbed of his godson of both of his parents.

Even so, she always answered that question the very same way.

“I don’t know.”

More rustling behind him, and a moment later, she placed her hands on his shoulders. She gripped them tightly, messaging his skin between her soft and gentle fingers. She continually inched closer to him while she was doing this, and then she abandoned her ministrations to instead wrap her arms around Harry from behind. She encompassed his waist, resting her hands against his strong chest before pressing a kiss to the middle of his back. She laid her head against his shoulder next and hugged him tightly, as if she could suck all of the bad dreams out of him if she only squeezed hard enough.

It was the very same position the two of them resumed every single night after Harry awoke from a nightmare (which was every night anymore). It was a bit of a comfort, Harry supposed, that they had a bit of a routine down in all of this. That despite all of the things changing around them, all of the uncertainly that still remained, at least one thing stayed the same.

Harry sometimes wondered why she even bothered with him anymore. This was about all their relationship consisted of anymore - her comforting him. That was wrong on so many levels. Not that there was anything wrong with her comforting him per se, but she had lost someone in the war as well - her own brother. She deserved some comfort as well, but Harry felt like he was so completely spent, he had very little energy to put into helping someone else at the moment. When Harry thought about trying to be the rock for her that she had been for him over the last several months, the idea was enough to nearly push him over the edge. He didn’t have it in him to be anyone’s pillar of strength. He just didn’t.

“What time is it?” he asked. Every time they did this, every time she held him like she was holding on for dear life, Harry couldn’t help but feel more and more pathetic as the minutes wore on. He couldn’t sit like this with her anymore, feeling like the weakest and least capable human being on the planet.

Ginny pulled away from him, turning to look at the clock on her bedside table. Harry had asked her to keep it over there and to keep it turned against the wall. In the days immediately after the war, Harry had found it nearly impossible to sleep at all, and he’d spent his nights watching the minutes tick away, pleading for sleep to come to him. He wasn’t having as much trouble getting to sleep now; his problem was staying asleep and keeping his nightmares at bay. If he could find out how to fix those things, then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown half the time.

“Five o’clock.”

At least his nightmares had held off long enough to allow him to sleep until a somewhat reasonable hour. Considering that he was sometimes awake at one or two o’clock in the morning, being able to stay asleep for this long was a small triumph. Maybe, just maybe, Harry was working his way through this nightmare. But he doubted it.

Harry couldn’t bear the thought of trying to go back to bed. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good anyway. After he had a nightmare, he was always way too upset, the images way too fresh and clear in his mind to get back to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

Harry nodded and said, “I’m getting up.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Harry disagreed. “It’s still ridiculously early. You stay here and go back to bed. Don‘t make yourself a walking Inferius on my account.”

Harry had intended for his comments to be a joke, to lighten the heavy mood that had settled into the room, but it didn’t come out that way. It had sounded angry and bitter, because he knew that Ginny never seemed to have any trouble sleeping whatsoever. She had lost someone in the war too, so why did it only seem to affect Harry so much? Not that he wanted her to have sleeping problems. He wouldn’t wish what he was going through on his worst enemy, much less someone he loved. It just didn’t seem fair though, that Harry was being made to deal with more than he thought he could handle while some people seemed to get off easier.

The war was over. Why couldn’t he just be…happy?

“Harry…” Ginny began, her voice a soft pleading tone, but then she stopped again.

They both knew where he would be going when he left their bedroom - where he always went when he woke up in the wee hours of the morning to find sleep escaping him. He knew Ginny hated it, although she never said as much. He could tell in the way she looked at him afterwards, in the way she always tried to stop him before he went.

“Andromeda is bringing Teddy over for dinner tonight,” Ginny said in an effort to change his mind, but things like that had hardly stopped him before. He was simply too far gone.

“So she is,” Harry said curtly.

Ginny sighed, heavily and hopelessly. Again, Harry wondered why she was still with him, why she had decided to move in with him when he was such an utter mess. Perhaps because she wanted to keep an eye on him. Maybe because she thought that she could somehow make things easier, make things better for him, help him turn his life around. With or without her there, however, Harry knew he spiraling out of control, and nothing she could say or do was going to stop him.

He wasn’t even sure that he wanted her to. It crossed his mind that he was testing her, pushing her. Seeing how far she would bend before she decided to give up on him altogether. Perhaps that was even what he wanted. The destructive path he knew he was on would be easier to keep up the fewer the people around him who cared.

“Don’t you want to have a nice dinner with them?” Ginny asked, that pleading tone growing to a fever pitch. “Just once?”

“You know what would make it even nicer?” Harry snapped, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so angry with her, but it was probably because she was proving to be as stubborn as a hippogriff and wasn’t about to let him go down without a fight. He turned his head, glancing back at her over his shoulder for the first time. “If Remus and Tonks were here.”

“Well, they aren’t,” she retorted, the anger apparent in her own voice. “And nothing is going to bring them back. I know you miss them, and I’m sorry for that. I miss them too, but no amount of drinking yourself into a stupor is going to bring them back.”

“You think that’s what this is about?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, genuine curiousness replacing the fury that he’d felt only a moment ago. “You honestly think that’s what I’m trying to do? Well, believe me, if I thought there was any way at all of getting them back, I wouldn’t have made such a mess out of my life. I’d be doing something to make them proud, so they wouldn’t be painfully embarrassed at how much The Boy Who Lived fell apart.”

Ginny shook her head firmly. “You know they wouldn’t be embarrassed by you,” she said, her tone resuming its usual calmness. “They’d be afraid, just like I am, and they‘d want to help you. But, Harry…you think that just because they’re not here, they don’t know what you’re doing? Because trust me, they do.”

Harry scoffed, turning around a bit to face her more fully. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? To think that they’re fully aware of what a mess I’ve made of things?”

“No,” Ginny sighed. “It’s supposed to serve as a reminder that even though they’re not here, they still very much love you, and they wouldn’t want you to be beating yourself up over what happened to them. They wouldn’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m disappointing them and you.” Harry couldn’t remain on the bed with her any longer. His anger had flared up again, and he felt the need to get out of there. To get away from the reminder that there was anyone in his life who still cared about him. He didn’t deserve it.

Harry stood up, and he felt Ginny’s fingers brushing briefly against his, reaching to him, trying to grab a hold of him, to stop him.

“Harry, that’s not-” Ginny tried, but Harry didn’t stop.

He made his way for the bedroom door, thrusting it open and disappearing out into the hallway. Ginny remained in her place on the bed, watching him go, watching his retreating back disappear around the corner of the doorway.

Once he left the bedroom, Ginny never went after him, and she wasn’t sure why. Or perhaps she did and she just didn’t want to admit it. This Harry - the one that felt driven to seek out comfort in a bottle - was so completely foreign to her. He was so far removed from the Harry she had known, she almost couldn’t comprehend it. This wasn’t her Harry. Not at all, and that scared her.

On nights like she, she supposed she felt paralyzed with fear, and that was what forced her remain in bed, allowing Harry to do what she was coming to hate. He was an adult anyway. It wasn’t like she was in any position to dictate what he should or should not do with his life, whether they were involved in a relationship or not.

The thing was, she had a pretty good idea where this was going. They both did. Not even showing any interest in a family dinner with his godson was a warning sign. Sooner or late, Harry was going to be spiraling out of control. Ginny had tried her hardest to stop him before it got this far, but it seemed like the harder she tried, the further Harry got away from her.

Ginny realized it might be time to start calling for reinforcements before it got any further, but something hung over her head. A very real fear that she was beginning to think about more and more - she wondered if there was anyone alive who could help Harry now.

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry plodded down to the kitchen, wasting no time in making his way over to the cabinet that held the drinking glasses. He pulled it open, grabbed a tumbler, then bent over. He pulled open the cupboard under the sink where they kept the Firewhiskey.

Ginny had asked him to get rid of it on numerous occasions already, but Harry couldn’t imagine going without it now. Once he woke up from his nightmares and was unable to get back to sleep, it was the only thing that made the day easier. The only thing that helped him to forget until he was able to pass out from exhaustion again. Or from drunkenness, but he wasn‘t about to admit that to anyone, least of all himself. He knew it was a horrible thing to rely on, he knew that now more than ever, but right now, all he wanted to do was forget. At least for a little while, and this was the only thing that helped me do it.

He crossed the room and sat down at the table. He set down his glass, uncorked the bottle of Firewhiskey, and poured only the first what always proved to many more drinks. He never intended to drink that much, it just kind of happened. Before he knew it, one turned into two, two to three, and before long, he could barely even remember how many he’d had let alone how many loved ones he’d lost.

Harry downed the first glass, the liquid burning his throat painfully. God, he hated Firewhiskey, but at the same time, he loved it.

_To be continued…_


	2. Darkness Lingers

The next thing Harry knew, he was being shaken awake. He cracked an eye open to find his cheek pressed up against the tabletop in a puddle of spittle. Harry grunted, trying to lift his head up, but the room seemed to be spinning around him. Squeezing his eye shut, Harry reached up a hand and stuck a finger under his glasses which had been sitting crookedly on his nose. He rubbed first at one and then the other, and then groaned again when he still couldn’t quite get his bearings.

“Your fault,” came Ginny’s annoyed voice. She came into view, and Harry could see that she was dressed in her bathrobe, her hair still wet from a shower. She picked up the bottle of Firewhiskey from table, held it up, and sighed disapprovingly.

There was still an inch or two of amber liquid swirling around in the bottom, quite a bit less than where the level had started off earlier that day. She began to turn away from him, and that got Harry moving. He found it wrong that he shouldn’t be allowed to finish his bottle.

“Hey!” he cried, suddenly lifting his head from the table for the first time since he’d woken up. He swooped out his hand, reaching for the bottle, but he missed by a mile.

Ginny stalked across the room, setting the bottle down on one of the counters with a loud _clunk_. “Look,” she said, turning back to face him, “I have to start getting things ready for tonight. I have food to prepare, and I can’t do that with you here. I don’t care where you go or what you do, just as long as it’s not here.”

“Well, let me do it with my bottle then!” Harry purposefully pushed himself up from the table only to find himself wobbling on his feet. He lurched to the other side of the room, wasting no time in picking his Firewhiskey up from where Ginny had left it. Without even bothering to retrieve his glass, he placed the opening of the bottle to his lips and tipped it upwards.

It was like drinking liquid fire itself. It burned and tore its way down his throat, making his eyes water as it went. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to pass out again - to go back to that completely dreamless and unknowing stupor that he had been in before Ginny had disturbed him.

Ginny stared at him, a mixture of anger and hurt etched on her face. “That’s all you’re going to do today - drink yourself silly? Not even going to bother to try and be halfway sober when your godson comes over?”

Harry’s first instinct was to insist he wasn’t drunk, but he knew that would be a lie. It was true that he didn’t feel drunk. A little bit tipsy perhaps, but certainly not drunk (wasn‘t that what drunk people always said?). But when he looked at the whiskey bottle clutched in his hand, at the small amount of booze actually left, he knew he couldn’t be anything but drunk. It wasn’t possible to consume that much Firewhiskey in the time he had and _not_ be drunk. Unless maybe you were Hagrid.

“Look,” Harry muttered, rubbing harshly at his face with his free hand. He was vaguely aware that he was slurring his words on top of everything else, but he wasn’t about to admit that either. “There’ll be other dinners. The world isn’t going to stop if I miss this one.”

Ginny kept looking at him, almost like he was some weird creature that had stumbled in off the streets and really didn‘t belong there. “You have no idea how many dinners you’ve missed with him, do you? You used to jump at the chance to see him, and now I doubt you even realize you haven’t seen him since Christmas.”

“Christmas was not that long ago,” Harry said, but his words sounded confused even to his own ears. It was funny, but he couldn’t quite remember how long ago Christmas _had_ been. A month perhaps? Surely not any longer than that, but the details seemed fuzzy to him.

He scratched his head, glancing around the kitchen. Didn’t Ginny keep a calendar hanging on the wall? He couldn’t see one if she did, and try as he might, he couldn’t for the life of him remember which month it was. Had it gone on to February yet? If it had, January had faded into it so imperceptibly. It was just a side-effect of the winter being too damn long and cold. That’s what it was.

“You really don’t,” Ginny reiterated, the slightest hint of shock in her voice. She sounded like she had fully been expecting it, but she still couldn‘t quite keep the sound of surprise out of her tone.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Look,” he repeated, more sternly this time. “Andromeda brings him round here all the time. _There’ll be other dinners_.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Ginny said. “And the time before that. And the time before that.”

“Ginny-”

“How would you have felt if your godfather had been too trashed to eat dinner with you?” Ginny asked.

Harry avoided the question. “Teddy’s too damn young to even understand this,” he said, waving the nearly empty whiskey bottle for emphasis. “He’s not going to remember a few dinners that his godfather missed when he was…a few months old.” Harry stalled again, squinting his eyes in an effort to remember how old his godson was. If he couldn’t even remember what the hell month it was, then Teddy’s age was a hopeless cause.

“He’s ten months,” Ginny answered his unspoken question. “And before you know, he isn’t going to be too young to understand it. He’s going to know full well why his godfather can’t come down and have dinner with him - because he’s plastered out of his mind.”

“Maybe he will,” Harry said, and he didn’t know why that idea didn’t scare him more than it did. Perhaps because the very harsh reality of the situation was that Harry didn’t know how people could expect anything more of him - or anything less, he wasn’t quite sure. Not that he wanted people’s pity, because he was well past that point. But Harry had been through a hell of a lot in a few short years, and he deserved to deal with that in his own ways however he saw fit. If that meant missing out on a few family dinners to drown his sorrows in Firewhiskey, then so be it. He thought people should cut him some slack and be happy he was alive at all; just as easily it could have been him in the final battle instead of Voldemort. Or Fred. Or Tonks. Or Remus.

“And if that time cones,” Harry continued, “I hope he would realize that I lost the only father figures I’ve ever had in my life. That isn’t something you just get over. There isn’t some magic spell that you can just cast to make it all better!” Something occurred to Harry and quietly added, “Unless you cast Obliviate, and I’m not about to wipe a couple of the few good things in my life from my memory entirely.”

“I know it isn’t something you can just get over,” Ginny said, her voice suddenly softer than it had been a moment before. “You know how I hate that expression anyway - like it’s simply a bad day that begins to fade once it’s over. I know it isn’t easy-”

“No,” Harry cut her off, “you don’t. Your parents are still alive. You weren’t orphaned. You never had to fill a gaping hole that they left, only to lose the two people that you found to look up to more than anything in the world.”

Ginny didn’t reply at first, only frowned in hurt. “No,” she said around a sigh, “you’re right. I don’t know what that’s like. But I think you’re forgetting that I lost a brother, Harry. It’s not exactly the same, but I haven’t gotten out of this war without my own losses, you know. You wouldn’t know what that’s like either, because you don’t have any siblings. That doesn’t mean we can’t sympathize with each other and help each other through this.”

She took a few steps closer to him and reached out a hand. Harry thought she was going to grab his free hand in hers, but she didn’t; she drew back at the last moment, perhaps out of fear or even still a lingering bit of anger. He wasn’t quite sure. “I’m not asking you to forget it,” she said. “God knows we never could - you could never forget your parents or your godfathers, and I could never forget Fred. And that’s okay. That’s the way it should be. But I am asking you not to lose sight of the family you still have left. Like I said, pretty soon Teddy will be able to understand what’s going on, and how will that make you feel?”

Harry frowned deeply. He didn’t quite understand Ginny’s question, and he thought they had been over this already.

“You’re missing out on a lot of special times with him as it is,” Ginny clarified. “How will you feel when he’s five or ten years old and you barely remember where the time went? When the only memory you have with him was that one Christmas when he was eight months old?”

If Teddy was ten months now, then that meant that Christmas had been two months ago. It was already well into February, and the month itself was nearly gone, about to turn into March. Harry tried not think about how he was already doing exactly what Ginny said he would - wondering where the time had gone. Instead, Harry snapped in annoyance, “Okay, you’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?”

“ _Yes_. I’m not going to be like this _forever_.” Harry sucked in an abrupt breath, wondering if his words were entirely true. No, he didn’t plan on drinking himself into an oblivion forever, but when did he plan to stop? The truth was, he wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon. At least not until he felt better, and he knew that was still quite a while in the future. So when _did_ it stop? Was he really going to wake up one day and decide to throw out all his booze? He didn’t think so, and he couldn’t imagine ever getting to that point. He knew it and so did Ginny. He could tell from her expression.

“You say that,” Ginny replied, “but yet, I wonder. I don’t think you can stop as it is, and we both know what you’re doing is addictive. The longer you do this, the harder it’s going to be to stop. If not now, when? When do you plan on _not_ being like this?”

Her questions were hypothetical. Harry didn’t have any answers for her, and he knew that was why she asked them - to stun him into silence. To make him think about what he was doing.

A hush had fallen over the kitchen, and right off the bat, it was uncomfortable. Even worse than when Harry had first met Ginny and she turned beet red and ran away every time she saw him. There had been a very short time in their relationship when things hadn’t been awkward, and now here they were, relegated to this horrible distance between them once again.

Harry was hoping for some kind of noise to break up the monotony. He vaguely wished he had started a fire in the fireplace, so at least the crackling sound would offer some sort of noise to the otherwise silent room. But then Ginny spoke again, and he was left wishing she hadn’t said anything at all, because this wasn’t going anywhere good.

“You’re missing time with us too,” she said softly. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve come home, wanting to do something with you, only to find you passed out and smelling of booze.” She hung her head, playing awkwardly with her fingers. “This isn’t exactly what I was hoping for when we moved in together.”

“What were you hoping for?” Harry asked, but he didn’t really want an answer. He felt anger rising inside, so much so that his free hand was curling into a fist at his side. His fingernails were digging into his palm painfully. His other hand, the one gripping his bottle, had tightened around the glass neck so much, he feared it might break. “We moved in together not long after the war ended. You had to know I wouldn’t exactly be the best roommate at the time.”

Ginny flinched at the word ‘roommate’. It wasn’t exactly what one’s girlfriend of nearly a year expected to be called. Of course, that was exactly why Harry had chosen to use it. He was angry, and he wanted to make her feel as much of a letdown as she was making him feel.

“I’m here because I love you.” Ginny’s voice was shaking now, and Harry knew he had hit a nerve. “And because I want to help you. I thought that us spending time together would help you, there’s little I can do anymore when you drink yourself into oblivion the first chance you get. I just…don’t know what to do to help you anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t need help,” Harry snapped. “Maybe I need some space to grieve in my own time and in my own way.”

“If that was true,” Ginny said, “then I’d give you all the space you needed. I would,” she added when Harry opened his mouth to protest, “if I thought that would do you one bit of good. But you’re not grieving, Harry. You’re not. When you get like this, you don’t even _remember_ those you’ve lost. You said so yourself that that’s why you drink. How can you grieve for something you can’t remember?”

“It’s too painful for me to remember it right now!” Harry shook his hand that was holding the bottle, the liquid inside sloshing around noisily. “The few moments of clarity I have after I wake up in the morning are enough! And contrary to what you believe, I can grieve in those moments. But it quickly grows to be too much and…I need it to stop.” Harry’s voice cracked on the last few words, and he felt tears stinging at his eyes.

As if to prove a point, Harry lifted the bottle to his lips and threw his head back. He chugged down the last few mouthfuls of the Firewhiskey, causing the tears in his eyes to leak out the corners. When he lowered the bottle, he had to swallow several times until the sensation of fire in his throat passed.

“Harry…” Ginny began, but then she stopped again. Harry didn’t know whether to feel proud or awful about the fact that he was deliberately hurting the woman he claimed to love.

With the bottle drained, Harry had little use for it. He set it down on the counter with a loud _thump_. His eyes went longingly to the cabinet under the sink where another bottle of Firewhiskey sat, waiting for Harry to consume it. He was caught in between wanting to hurt Ginny further and wanting to show that he wasn’t as bad off as she seemed to think. Even though he was beginning to suspect he was.

“What’s stopping you?” Ginny asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go for it. Get yourself so drunk you don’t know which way is up.”

Harry stood frozen to his spot for a few more seconds, but then he threw caution to the wind. He stalked forward, bent over, and retrieved his second supply of Firewhiskey.

“Just stay out of my sight,” Ginny warned, her voice shaking in anger. “I have guests coming for dinner, and even if you don’t care, _I_ have some entertaining to do. Just don’t embarrass me while they’re here.”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever done anything to embarrass Ginny in front of Andromeda, but he didn’t point this out. It occurred to Harry that he probably didn’t remember a whole hell of lot of what happened when he was drunk. That was sort of the point. Even if he’d come downstairs ranting and raving in the middle of dinner, he probably wouldn’t know it the next day. Not unless Ginny told him about such an encounter, which she never had.

This made Harry think harder. He hadn’t done anything like that in front of his godson, had he? True, Teddy was too little to know what was happening, but the thought of doing so made Harry feel slightly sick, a feeling that he didn’t think was due to the alcohol in his system. Harry didn’t even care so much about what he did in front of Andromeda; Harry suspected that she’d understand it all too well after losing her husband and daughter in the war. But when he imagined a drunken scene in front of Teddy, Harry felt like the lowest person on the face of the earth. Teddy was his godson. Harry was supposed to be protecting him, not subjecting him to such things. That wasn’t what Remus and Tonks would have wanted from him.

Harry, however, wasn’t about to let Ginny onto the fact that she had gotten to him. Instead, he just said, “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Without another word, he turned and left the room, trudging upstairs to their bedroom, bottle of Firewhiskey firmly in hand.

When he entered the bedroom, he sat down heavily on his side of the bed. Then he spent several minutes trying to open his bottle before he succeeded. Trying to do so while inebriated was not the easiest thing in the world.

Harry cursed himself for not grabbing his glass before he came upstairs. He’d do so occasionally, but drinking out of the bottle really wasn’t his thing. But he certainly wasn’t going to go downstairs to retrieve his tumbler. At the moment, he just wanted to drink until he was about to pass out so he wouldn’t have to think anymore. That cloud that slowly took over his mind when he was drunk had faded way too much during his conversation with Ginny for his liking. He had to bring it back.

Throwing his head back again, Harry gulped down as much as the Firewhiskey as he could stand at one time. Fresh tears sprang up in his eyes, trailing down his temples and pattering on his ears. When the fiery feeling in his throat grew too much to stand, Harry straightened up and pulled the bottle away, using the sleeve of his pajama top to wipe his face dry.

Gasping for breath, Harry sat and stared off across the room. His eyes fell upon the picture of himself and Remus positioned on the dresser. It had been taken by Colin Creevey during Harry’s third year. He and Remus had been sitting out by the lake, engaged in another one of their long talks that had quickly become a tradition for them. Harry longed for that time - spending days sitting out by the lake at Hogwarts, having been blessed with the first and closest thing to a father he’d ever known. Sure, he’d had so much to deal with back then - a godfather that he’d thought wanted to kill him, along with the continued threat that even a disembodied Voldemort was proving to be. Despite all this, things had still seemed so much simpler back then, so much easier.

More tears were suddenly pouring down Harry’s cheeks, and this time, it wasn’t because of the Firewhiskey. Harry drew in a shaking sob. “I’m sorry, Remus,” Harry said aloud, failing to control the quiver in his voice. “I’m a shitty arse godfather, aren’t I? I would have been devastated if you or Sirius had missed spending time with me in favor of getting drunk, and here I am…” Harry broke off, dragging his hand across his eyes in an attempt to dry them again. “I just don’t know how…” There were about a million different ways Harry could finished that sentence, so he chose not to. Perhaps he didn’t have to. The silence spoke well enough for itself.

Harry drank some more. He drank and drank until that wonderful cloud of unknowing began to creep back over his mind. Harry was crying as it did, more tears streaming down his face, and his back and shoulders were heaving in silent sobs. But he didn’t stop. He kept drinking until he couldn’t even remember why he was crying.

That was the point when he set the bottle down on his bedside table for fear of dropping it and breaking it. That was the last coherent thought he had, because he sat and stared at the bottle, not quite even knowing what it was anymore. Everything was going wonky. He was dizzy and he fell backwards on the bed, his feet still dangling down to the floor. As soon as his head hit the mattress, he closed his eyes, and he knew no more.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Harry opened his eyes again, the room was completely dark, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon sunshine that had engulfed it before he'd passed out. For a single terrifying moment, he thought for sure he was back in one of his nightmares. He sucked in a breath of air, testing, tasting. But no. The air wasn’t sour here, it didn‘t smell like death or destruction. It was clean, and clear, and just like it always was at home.

His head was pounding, causing Harry to groan. He brought a hand up, rubbing roughly at his forehead. This was the only part of drinking that he dreaded - waking up with a heard of Hippogriffs running around rampant in his head.

Why couldn’t he have slept some more? Why did he have to wake up now? Actually, why did he have to wake up at all? Harry wasn’t suicidal. On the contrary, he’d never think of leaving his loved ones to deal with his death. The death of his own loved ones had messed him up way too much for him to even wish that kind of pain on his worst enemy, let alone those he loved. He’d never deliberately put anyone through that. Nevertheless, he still had moments where he wished for his sleep to go on and on, for it never to end.

Harry closed his eyes again, wishing for sleep to come and claim him once more. Sometimes, if he was still drunk enough, and if he didn’t get up or move around too much, he could effortlessly slip back into the alcohol-induced sleep he loved so much. This, however, was not to be one of those times.

“Harry.”

His eyes flying open once again, Harry turned his head quickly towards the sound of the voice. Once he had done so, he regretted it. Pain flared up again, and he whined in agony. He covered his eyes with his hands, wishing for whoever it was to leave him alone.

“Harry.”

But Harry knew that voice. Oh god, he knew that voice so well, and it had been so long since he’d heard it. He wasn’t sure he had heard right the first time, but he was now. He froze in place, afraid to move and afraid to look at the speaker for fear that this would all turn out to be another nightmare. For perhaps the first time in the last eight months, Harry was wishing more than anything that he was awake, that what was happening was real.

Swallowing hard, Harry slowly lowered his hands. Harry let out another sob, almost a plea to find what he wanted to see. It had been such a long time since Harry had seen him. Far too long, and Harry didn’t think he could handle this turning out to be some kind of illusion, some kind of hallucination on his part. That would so cruel. Too cruel.

But there he was, standing in Harry’s room in the flesh so to speak, because he didn‘t look like a ghost. He looked just as real as Harry himself. Harry knew this couldn’t be real, but he couldn’t imagine what else this could be. He knew he wasn’t having a nightmare; none of the ones he’d ever had since the war ended contained anything even slightly comforting.

Harry’s eyes filled with tears, which made it hard to see. He tried to blink them away, because for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be able to see things clearly. He wanted to be able to experience this moment for all it was worth.

His head still pounding, Harry pushed himself up from the mattress. He sat up, wanting to get a better look at the man he missed so much. “Remus?” Harry asked, the werewolf’s name punctuated by a sob.

Remus didn’t say anything, but simply stared at Harry. What shocked Harry the most - aside from seeing Remus standing in his bedroom, that was - was the expression on Remus’s face. Harry had completely been expecting some combination of disappointment and pity to be present there. Remus, however, had nothing but love and concern taking over his features.

“But…” Harry began, more for something to do than because he had something to say. He felt confused beyond belief, and he kept staring down at his hands in his lap. He kept throwing quick glances up at Remus, only to redirect his gaze downwards once again. He was waiting for this vision of Remus to vanish, to prove that Harry was either dreaming, drunk beyond belief, or-

“You’re not going mad,” Remus answered Harry’s next thought.

“But…” Harry tried again, desperately trying to find words to go with his thoughts. “You’re dead.” _Thank you, Captain Obvious_ , Harry thought to himself. He felt rather dim if that was all he could think of to say.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t come back if I felt I was needed.”

“You are needed,” Harry said, almost pleading. Like if he begged enough, he just might be able to completely reverse what had happened to Remus. If only. “You have been needed these last eight months. I need you. Teddy needs you.”

“Teddy’s in good hands,” Remus said confidently, briefly closing his eyes and nodding once.

Even though he was certain that Remus hadn’t meant it that way, Harry’s next words escaped him before he hand a chance to even attempt to stop them. “No thanks to me.”

Remus shook his head firmly. “You know that’s not what I meant, Harry. I would never say anything like that to you.”

“Even though you might think it?”

“I never thought it. Not once. Not now, not ever.” He paused, appearing deep in thought, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Dora and I chose you to be Teddy’s godfather for a reason, you know. If we ever thought you incapable of that, we never even would have considered it.”

“Even now…?” Harry broke off, unable to form the words. Or perhaps too embarrassed to. Somehow ‘ _I’m a mindless drunk_ ’ were words that he never imagined having to say to Remus of all people. Harry simply lifted his hands and gestured towards the partially empty bottle still sitting on his nightstand. The liquid inside appeared almost black in the darkened bedroom, the nearly full moon outside the window providing just enough light to make out the shape of it.

“Never,” Remus repeated. “I know this has been a difficult time for you. I knew it would be even before I considered the possibility of having a son. I didn’t imagine that you would come out of this war completely whole. Few of us rarely do, and you have more reason than anyone to be struggling. Dora and I still chose you.” Remus pressed his lips together, considering this. He tilted his head to the side and added, “Perhaps that was why we chose you. If anyone could understand the effects of war, it’s you.”

Remus paused for a very long time, taking a few steps closer to Harry. “Do you think we didn’t consider the possibility that something might happen to one or both of us?” Remus asked. “That’s something I think most parents think about when they’re making such decisions about their children. Especially when they’re in the middle of a war - who they want to be there for their children in their absence. That’s not to say that that’s the only reason, because there were a multitude of others, but…they all added up to you being the best option. I told you that when I asked if you would accept the position - ‘no one better’. I meant it then and I mean it now, regardless of what you’re going through.”

Remus’s eyes went to the Firewhiskey, and if Harry wasn’t much mistaken, he was certain he saw a fleeting expression of pity in his eyes. That was what Harry had been expecting the moment Remus had shown up there. Remus seemed to realize this, because a moment later, his face went oddly blank, like he was trying to clear it of any such thing.

Gesturing at the bottle just as Harry had, Remus said, “That doesn’t change who you are, Harry. Well, when you’re inebriated-” Harry flinched at the world, “-but it doesn’t change who you are inside. Who you really are. That was another reason we chose you. Because you’re a good person, and you’ve _remained_ a good person. You’ve been through hell, and look at you.”

Harry grimaced, initially assuming that Remus had meant that in a negative way - look at the mess he had become. Remus, however, quickly clarified himself.

“You are an amazing person, Harry,” Remus said, carefully and deliberately enunciating each word. “You always have been, and I have confidence that you always will be. Do you have any idea how many other people would have let circumstances like this destroy them?”

His eyes darting back to the Firewhiskey, Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. He wondered if Remus could tell. It was definitely too dark for a normal person to see, but Remus was supposed to be dead too. Perhaps he could see things, sense things now that a normal person couldn’t.

“And that’s not what I mean,” Remus went on. “When it comes right down to it, you’re still you inside when so many other people wouldn’t be any longer. They would have let this war completely warp them and twist them into something unrecognizable - maybe even into something akin to Voldemort. Or Greyback.”

Harry pulled a face again, and for inexplicable reasons, he could feel tears tingling in his eyes. Maybe it was because if he had turned out to be some kind of dark wizard, everything everyone had done for him would have been such a waste. His parents’ sacrifice, Sirius and Remus doing their best to make sure Harry had some of kind of respectable parental figures to look up to - it all would have been for nothing. Harry couldn’t even fathom throwing away their gestures of love in such a way.

“I could never be like them,” Harry whispered, almost absently. He wondered if Remus had even heard it. Remus, of course, could always be counted on; his sensitive werewolf hearing managed to pick up even the quietest of murmurs. It was nice to know that some things never changed, even in death.

“I know that,“ Remus said. “I’ve always known that. But that’s how much the unfortunate events in their pasts have changed them for the worse.” Harry opened his mouth to object, but Remus was one step ahead of him. “Yours have changed you too. Of course they have, how could they not? But as you said, you could never be like them. You haven’t gotten out of this completely unscathed, no. I don’t think anyone could have. But not everyone would have remained true to themselves. Some of them would have become so bitter, they would have taken it out on the rest of the world. If they couldn’t be happy, then no one should be.” He stopped for effect before adding, “You’re exactly the kind of example that Teddy needs.”

“Remus,” Harry said in a tone that suggested the werewolf was losing it. He thoroughly appreciated Remus’s praise, especially now. When Remus had suddenly and randomly appeared in his bedroom, Harry had been expecting to be completely berated for the poor choices he had made as of late. To hear that Remus clearly didn’t have any negative feelings towards, that he was still so proud of Harry - because Harry could easily hear it in his voice - seemed to warm Harry from the inside out. But Harry wondered if Remus had really been watching him all that closely over the last eight months. He couldn’t have been, could he? Not if he still had so many positive feelings towards him.

“Look at me,” Harry sighed miserably, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’m no kind of example for anyone, much less a ten-month-old boy.”

Remus sighed in return, biting at his bottom lip in thought. Silence fell for a very long time, the formerly comfortable atmosphere of the room almost growing to be awkward.

Harry continued to keep his focus on his lap where he was distractedly playing with this hands. He almost began to think that Remus had either left, or that he had never been there in the first place. Harry didn’t want to look up in case it was to find his room completely and utterly empty. He didn’t know if he could handle that right now. Even in the short time that Remus had been there, Harry felt so much better than he had in months. It was a thing that no one else could have achieved in him, and Harry didn’t even want to think about the fact that he could imagined the whole thing. If Harry didn’t think he was crazy before, he certainly would after that.

But then Remus spoke again, his voice like a lifeline to Harry in the dark. “Come, Harry.”

Looking up suddenly, Harry saw that Remus had turned partially towards the door and raised his arm in Harry’s direction. He was waiting for Harry to follow him.

Harry swallowed hard. “Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.” Remus didn’t say anything else, but turned the rest of the way and began walking towards the door. Harry remained where he was, and then Remus stopped in the doorway, facing Harry once again.

It took Harry a long time to decide to follow. With the amount that he’d had to drink so far that night, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could even stand, let alone walk. Then again, everything else in this dream - or whatever it was, because he still wasn’t convinced that he _was_ dreaming - seemed easier than it should have been, so maybe the same would go for Harry’s coordination.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed himself to his feet. He froze for a while, waiting for the floor to suddenly rush up to meet him. Nothing happened. Strangely enough, he remained upright with little to no effort. That made Harry wonder if this was entirely in his head, but he tried to push that thought away. Cautiously turning, Harry slowly joined Remus in the doorway.

Still without speaking, Remus began leading the way down hallway. Harry followed silently. His mind was going crazy, trying to figure out where on earth they could be headed, and Harry wanted to ask about a million questions as a result. He didn’t. Harry realized that he wasn’t about to get them, not at the moment at least. Remus wanted to show him something first. As it was, Harry thought that wherever Remus was going just then, he would follow. Even if it was to the ends of the earth, and he would welcome it gladly.

_To be continued…_


	3. Darkness Rises

Remus led Harry downstairs, and as they went, the voices of the dinner party in the kitchen began growing louder and louder. Harry wanted to stop Remus, to tell him that he really shouldn’t be anywhere near Teddy right now with the amount of liquor he’d had already. But Harry didn’t say anything. This was Remus, Teddy’s _father_. If he didn’t want a drunken almost-stranger around his son, he surely wouldn’t be taking Harry straight to him.

Even so, this did nothing to calm Harry’s fears. As they drew closer, his legs began to grow wobbly. It was like someone had performed a Jelly Legs Jinx on him without his knowledge. He didn’t even know if he could make it all the way down to the kitchen without keeling over. Despite the fact that he trusted Remus implicitly, all Harry could think about were the looks on Ginny’s and Andromeda’s faces when Harry turned up to their nice quiet dinner just a little bit tipsy.

The closer they got, the more Harry wanted to turn around and run upstairs, just like a stupid child. This wasn’t going to end well, he knew it. No matter the reason for it, Harry knew Ginny was going to be furious. She’d already warned him to stay out of sight and to not embarrass her by his current state. As much as Harry thought he’d wanted to push her away, to make his downward spiral as obstacle-free as possible, he suddenly realized that that wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. He loved Ginny deeply, and he didn’t want to lose her.

Besides, what if Harry was completely hallucinating Remus being there? What if he was so drunk, he was carrying on a conversation with someone who wasn’t really there? Harry inwardly cringed when he thought about trying to explain that to Ginny and Andromeda. He imagined that they’d be trying to get him committed to St Mungo’s before the sun rose.

But Harry felt unable to stop. This is Remus, Harry kept thinking to himself. One of the people he had been missing with his entire being for the last eight months. One of the people that he didn’t think he could go on without. And yet, here Remus was. Leading him…somewhere. This was what Harry had wanted, wasn’t it? To have Remus back, to have some of the guidance again that Remus had always brought to his life.

As low an opinion as Harry already had for himself, he knew Remus wouldn’t be doing anything that would make things worse for Harry. From the first moment Remus had shown up in his bedroom a few minutes ago, Harry had known was there to help Harry. However he might be doing that. So Harry went.

When they got closer to their destination, Harry slowed his progress, letting Remus go on ahead. Harry waited just around the corner from the kitchen, giving Ginny and Andromeda the chance to react to Remus’s presence when he entered. They didn’t. He may as well have not been there at all, so Harry decided that they must not see him. That theory, however, got thrown out the window when Remus decided to make himself known.

“Come on, Harry,” Remus called.

Still, no one in the kitchen said anything about the fact that a dead man had just entered the room. That was when Harry realized that he was most certainly dreaming, even though none of his recent dreams had ever been like this. Or maybe just going crazy. He wasn’t quite sure yet.

Gripping the wall for support, Harry slowly crept around the corner into the kitchen. He really didn’t want to be there, and he thought his legs might just give out completely. He shouldn’t be doing this - he shouldn’t be attempting to interrupt a nice family dinner when he was still pretty damn drunk.

Finally, Harry entered the room fully, but remained pressed up against the wall. He hoped against hope that they wouldn’t notice him, even though that seemed like a futile wish. How could they not notice him? Ginny, at least, was facing in Harry’s general direction. Surely she would see him, but…she didn’t seem to. Harry stood there longer and longer, fully expecting Ginny to look up at him at any minute, to give him a look of pure anger. As far as she was concerned, however, there were only three people in the kitchen, and none of them were grown men.

Neither Harry nor Remus received any sort of acknowledgement at all, and then inexplicably, Harry wished that they would. At the risk of angering Ginny, for the first time in a long time, Harry wanted to be included in something, wanted to be a part of something. For such a long time, he hadn’t cared. He’d just wanted to be left alone so he could drink himself into oblivion, but now…

Andromeda and Ginny were seated across from each other at the end of the table. Just to the side, seated in a high chair, was Teddy. Grasped in one chubby little hand, Teddy was holding a stuffed grey wolf toy by one of its front paws. He kept waving it in the air, giggling at the top of his lungs, and waving his other limbs every which way.

Andromeda was using a small spoon to scoop up a tiny bite of her mashed potatoes. She lifted the spoon and held it front of Teddy’s lips. He momentarily stopped waving around his stuffed wolf to eat his mashed potatoes. After he swallowed, he went back to waving his wolf through the air, laughing as it went.

Teddy’s hair kept shifting in color, seamlessly fading from one shade of blue to the other. Every time he giggled, it exploded into a brilliant sky blue only to darken again to turquoise when he paused to eat a bite of food. Harry had obviously known that Teddy was a Metamorphmagus, but he’d never actually seen Teddy change his appearance.

“His hair…” Harry murmured in awe, but also as a test. Neither Ginny nor Andromeda looked up at the sound of his voice. Harry didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. He had been going on the assumption that this might be a dream, but what if it wasn’t? What if this was some horrible, alcohol-induced hallucination? What if he really was losing it?

“It does that when he gets excited,” Remus informed him, oblivious to Harry’s concerns about his sanity. “It’s been happening more and more often as he’s gotten older.” There was a definite note of pride in Remus’s voice, and he wasn’t taking his eyes from his son; those were some of the very things Harry himself coveted so much from Remus.

Then Teddy did something else Harry had never experienced from his godson before.

“Gwan!” Teddy exclaimed. He leaned forward in his chair, reaching his free hand over the tray towards Andromeda.

Andromeda immediately scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes in Teddy’s baby spoon and held it out for him. Teddy wasted no in gobbling it up before returning to the adventures of his stuffed wolf.

Suddenly no longer afraid of being discovered, Harry pushed himself away from the wall to which he had been clinging. He took a few steps closer to Teddy, almost unable to believe what he had just seen - or heard. Harry wanted to reach out for his godson, to scoop him up in his arms and hug him fiercely for the first word he’d ever heard him speak. Harry, however, remained rooted to his spot. He wasn’t exactly in the greatest shape to be around his godson. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as he could be, but he still reeked of alcohol. Something stopped Harry, a feeling that he’d somehow be dirtying his godson by coming into contact with him.

A horrible thought struck Harry anyway. A part of him was very well aware that this might not be real, and Harry wondered if Teddy would even know he was there, or if he’d even be able to interact with him at all. Despite the fact that he was now standing in the middle of the room and had spoke aloud, still no one seemed to notice him. He may as well have been invisible. Except to Remus. If he tried to hug Teddy, Harry thought he might find himself holding on to nothing but thin air. He didn’t think he could stand that right now. He just didn’t.

Turning back to Remus, Harry gaped at him. Harry was unable to form the words, unable to put voice to his own thoughts. What his godson was now quite capable of, Harry found himself failing at. What Harry wanted to ask was when in the bloody hell Teddy had started talking. Not only had Harry missed it, but no one had even told him that Teddy had said his first word. Harry tried not to think about the fact that what Ginny had said was true - he was already missing out on important pieces of his godson’s life, and he had done so willingly. Harry had instead chosen to fill his life with nothing more than a few drunken flashes of memory, memories that he’d sooner forget.

Harry realized something for the first time. He was blocking out all the pain he was currently in, but he’d also been blocking himself from forming any new good memories. About all he could remember since Christmas were fights with Ginny and waking up after nightmares with hangovers from hell. That was all his life consisted of now - fighting with the woman he loved and drinking. Sure, there wasn’t much pain, which was what Harry had been after all along, but there wasn’t much of anything else either.

Remus suddenly spoke, pulling Harry from his mind. “He started talking just after Christmas.” Not for the first time, Harry was grateful for Remus’s insight into certain things; Remus always understood.

Turning back to Teddy, Harry said, “I can’t believe I missed it. And…Merlin, he‘s eating solid foods! When did…?” Harry trailed off, noticing something else. Now that he got a good look at Teddy, it occurred to Harry just how much his godson had grown in two short months. It wouldn’t completely surprise Harry if Teddy showed the signs of trying to walk soon.

Harry had an image of Teddy pulling himself up on a chair and beginning to toddle across the room, all the while, Harry himself would be passed out somewhere upstairs. Harry, who should be watching his godson as he took his first steps. Holding his hand as he struggled to reach the other side of the room.

Harry had missed so much already, and he was starting to feel like the world’s worst godfather. Actually, the world’s worst person if he was honest. Remus and Tonks wanted Harry to be involved in these milestones in their son’s life, and Harry was willingly missing out on them. Willingly putting himself into something close to an alcohol-induced coma while the world passed him by.

Remus could always be counted on. Not a moment too soon, Harry felt Remus’s warm and comforting hand fall onto his shoulder. “None of this makes you a bad person,” he said firmly.

His mouth dropping open a bit, Harry scoffed. He found himself out of words yet again.

“It doesn’t, Harry,” Remus reassured. “You’ve been having a hard time.” He said these words slowly and clearly, like he was willing Harry to believe that he spoke nothing but the truth.

“Then why did you bring me down here?” Harry asked, a sob punctuated his words.

Remus didn’t reply for a long time. The only sounds in the room were Teddy’s continued giggles, the noise of silverware against plates, and the soft chatter of Ginny and Andromeda. Harry wasn’t even registering what they were saying; he’d been so consumed with the fact that Remus was here and then with Teddy’s accomplishments that he barely even noticed they were there any longer. Besides, neither Andromeda nor Ginny knew he was there; it felt only natural to block them out as well.

When Remus finally answered Harry’s question, his tone was slightly apologetic. “I still wanted you to see what you’ve been missing. I…suppose I wanted you to make an informed decision. If you still want to…do what you’re doing, then so be it.”

Remus’s words hurt Harry’s feelings. Not that Harry had wanted anyone to save him. He’d spent the last several months trying to ensure that Ginny wouldn’t do just that, after all, and Harry certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone else to try and turn his life around. Besides, Harry knew full well that no one could force him to do that; he had to _want_ to make himself better, and he had to make that decision on his own. But _this was Remus_.

Harry supposed it wasn’t really fair, but he sort of held Remus to a different standard. Remus was the first adult in his life that he’d ever looked up to and that he’d ever been even remotely close to. Remus had been there for him at a time when he’d desperately needed that guidance, someone to teach him how to save himself when no one else would. Surely if anyone could pull him out of the current funk he was in, it was Remus. But if even Remus was willing to let Harry continue on in this semi existence, what hope was there for Harry to save himself?

Then again, Remus was…either a ghost or something close to it. What could Remus do really other than tell Harry how he felt? He supposed Remus didn’t have very many options in his current state.

And then for the first time, it occurred to Harry that Remus had touched him just a moment ago by laying a hand on his shoulder. Ghosts certainly couldn’t do that. That coupled with the fact that Harry was standing in the kitchen having a conversation with a dead man that no one else could hear made him almost certain that he was dreaming. He had to be. There was no other explanation. Never mind that none of his other recent dreams had been like this. There was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

Harry knew he was probably holding onto that fact - that none of his other dreams had been this - because he wasn’t prepared for the fact that this was all in mind. Harry wanted to believe more than anything that Remus could come back, could help to guide him again, that he’d never really left him. It comforted Harry to think that Remus had been watching over them all this time, keeping an eye out for them. Of course, it embarrassed Harry in some ways too, to think that Remus was well aware of all the mistakes he’d made as of late. But it comforted Harry in other ways; it made him feel safe and protected.

Harry turned back to Remus, giving him a searching look. They stood like that for a long time, like two lone pillars remaining standing in the ruins that had become Harry’s life.

“Is this real?” Harry asked at last. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that, but at the same time, he couldn’t not know. He suspected it would drive him crazy if he didn’t ask.

“Why wouldn’t this be real?” Remus countered without missing a beat. It seemed like he’d been prepared for that very question, had had his response ready since this encounter had begun.

“Because!” Harry cried, waving his arms around in the air. “I’m standing here talking to someone who’s been dead for months and…” He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder at the others still seated at the table. “No one else knows we’re here.”

“So just because of those things it means it can’t be real?” Remus asked, a tiny note of mischief to his voice. For the first time in his life, Harry could fully see Remus being a Marauder. Remus was always so prim and proper, so in line with the rules; up until that point, Harry had a hard time imagining him keeping in league with James and Sirius when they were younger. Now, not so much.

“You’re a wizard, Harry,” Remus added, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. “Things like this aren’t _entirely_ impossible, are they?”

Harry faced Remus fully again, and then he hung his head, as if he was looking for answers in the floor of all places. He frowned deeply, coming to terms with the fact that no matter how many times he asked, no matter how much he pushed Remus, Harry wasn’t going to get a straight answer. Perhaps there wasn’t one.

“I guess not,” Harry sighed. He bit at his lower lip, wondering where this was going, where this would lead his already ridiculous life. “What does this mean for me?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

For a very brief moment, Harry got the feeling that he was talking to Dumbledore of all people. Dumbledore always danced around the topic, not giving completely straight answers unless he wanted to. Harry had to look up to reassure himself that it was in fact Remus who was standing in front of him. That same twinkle that was always present in Dumbledore’s eyes was suddenly there, lighting up Remus’s own blue eyes in a way that Harry had never noticed before. “Doesn’t really help, hm?” Remus asked, slightly amused.

“No.”

It was Remus’s turn to sigh. “I can’t tell you what to do, Harry. I can’t,” he said more firmly this time in response to Harry’s slightly annoyed glance. “That’s not what this is about. And even if I did tell you what to do, what difference would it make?”

“’What difference‘?!” Harry exclaimed. He was about ready to launch into a rant about it making a huge difference! This was Remus, his former teacher and one of the men he considered a mentor. It made quite a difference what Remus thought. Before Harry had a chance to voice this, however, Remus continued to speak in his usual calm tone. Harry had to subdue himself in the interest of hearing Remus’s next words.

“That choice has to come from you. No one else. I suspect you know that.”

Harry diverted his gaze, staring at a random spot on the far wall. Even though he’d known it wouldn’t be that easy, for once in his life, he just wished someone would tell him what to do, would make the decision for him. Then again, even if Remus did tell him what to do, it didn’t mean Harry would do it. That was the entire point, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “I suppose I do.”

“But Harry?” Remus took a few steps closer to him, attempting to get into his field of vision again. When Harry looked up at him, Remus continued, “You have to know what I would _want_ you to do. It’s what anyone concerned with your wellbeing would want you to do. That includes Ginny.”

“I know.” Unable to take holding Remus’s gaze any longer, Harry turned towards the table once more. It felt like Remus was scrutinizing him, judging him for the mistakes he’d made. Even though Harry rationally knew Remus wouldn’t do something like that - he’d said as much himself, and Harry believed him - that didn’t stop Harry’s mind from thinking those things.

“I just…” Harry began, but then trailed off. He hung his head, fiddling with his hands. His eyes were burning with unshed tears again, and before he was able to stop it, a large tear leaked out and landed on the lens of his glasses. He did nothing to wipe it away. “It’s so hard.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Remus closed the distance between them, coming up right behind Harry until Harry almost thought he could feel Remus’s body heat. “I know it’s hard. Believe me, I do. Perhaps more than anyone.” He paused, like he was mulling his words over carefully before he spoke them. “I lost my best friend… _twice_. First to the assumption that he had killed your parents, and then…to death itself. There were times after both those instances when I wanted nothing more than to drink so much I didn’t know which was up.”

“What stopped you?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

That got Harry’s attention. He whirled around so quickly he thought he might have toppled over if he’d had just a little bit more alcohol in his system. “You?” Harry said incredulously. “But you’re…” Harry didn’t know what exactly he’d wanted to say that Remus was. ‘My role model’, ’my mentor’, and ‘not what I imagined an alcohol-dependant person to be’ were just a few of the possibilities that ran through his mind. In the end, he decided not to use any of them at all. He thought his initial reaction and expression were enough. Besides, just as Remus had done for him, Harry didn’t want Remus to think that Harry was disappointed in him. He could never be disappointed in Remus. Even when he’d said he had been in the past.

Remus didn’t reply, just held Harry’s gaze steadily.

“But I…” Harry began again, still struggling for the right words. “I never noticed. I never even suspected that you might be…inebriated. Or drinking at all.”

“Oh, not after I met you, no,” Remus said. “Not even after Sirius’s death. I’d learned my lesson the first time.”

“The first time?”

It was Remus’s turn to look away from Harry. Remus started pacing up and down the room, keeping his eyes pinned on the floor, lost in the memory this conversation had brought up. “After your parents died, I didn’t know what else to do. I’d lost the only friends I’d ever had in my life to - what I thought was - the hands of the man I considered my best friend.

“We were in a war. It was no secret that some people used booze as a way to help them cope. Before that, I’d never had a drop in my life. My parents didn’t drink, and I really never had any desire to even try it. I looked up to them so much, and I guess I wanted to do pretty much everything the way they did it, but…I don’t know. I was looking for something, anything to dull my pain, so I figured, ‘Why the hell not?’ That was really the only thing that mattered to me at the moment - finding a way to make myself feel better, if only for a little while. When you’re so deep in grief, very little matters to you anymore except for that - finding a way to make it stop. So I decided to try it and see what all the fuss was about. If it didn’t help, then I wouldn’t try it again, but if it did…” Remus shrugged in embarrassment.

“You sought it out of desperation,” Harry said in understanding.

“Mm,” Remus hummed grimly in response. “So I did. I went out and bought a bottle of Firewhiskey with money I really couldn’t afford to waste. Perhaps that was why I…wanted it to work so badly then. I didn’t want that money I’d scrounged up for it to be for naught. I went home and…drank myself into oblivion.” A wry expression passed over Remus’s face. “You should have seen me. I was hardly the prim and proper professor you would come to know.

“It went on that way for quite some time. I’m-” Remus squinted deeply in thought, “-not even really sure how long it was. It could have been a few months, but it was most probably a year or more. Everything from that time is mixed up and muddled. Consumed by the black whole that had seemed to swallow up my life. I spent every single last Knut I had on making my pain - my life - disappear. When I could barely afford to feed myself to begin with…it obviously became a bigger problem than I knew how to handle.”

“Didn’t…” Harry interrupted gently, not sure how to phrase his question. He knew this was a sore spot for Remus even at the best of times. “My dad left you some money, didn't he?”

“Indeed,” Remus said simply, clearly not keen on the idea of even admitting it. “Most of which I still had up until my death, which I then left to Teddy. I didn’t use it then for the same reason I didn’t use it up until last year.” Remus let out a soft breath and stared down at the floor, a small blush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hate admitting that I need help. I hate feeling like I’m being _coddled_ , like I need to be taken care of, like I‘m taking handouts. I like to take care of myself on what I earn myself.”

“If you can’t,” Harry said, “that’s hardly your fault. It’s the fault of the prejudiced world we live in.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, “but it’s the principle of the thing. Even more so then. If I squandered away part of your father’s inheritance - the part that he had the graciousness to leave to me in the first place when I really didn’t deserve it-”

Harry began to protest this. Remus most certainly did deserve the right to live like a normal human being and the money to enable him to do so, but then Remus’s words made Harry’s blood run cold. It made him feel even worse than he already had. It made him shut his mouth so hard and tight that a wave of pain went through his teeth.

“-on _booze_ of all things…” Remus shook his head and stopped, letting his words speak for themselves for a moment. When he spoke again, Harry noticed that Remus’s voice was the only other sound in the room. Gone were Teddy’s giggles, Andromeda and Ginny’s conversation, the tinkle of silverware on china, and even the crackling and roaring of the fireplace. They were still there - one glance out of the corner of Harry’s eye was enough to tell him that the dinner party was still very much going on - but it was like someone had performed a Quietus spell on them. All that Harry could hear - all that even mattered to him at the moment - was Remus.

“I knew I’d feel even worse than I already did,” Remus added, seeming to take the words right out of Harry’s mouth. “If using his money for necessities like _food_ made me feel guilty, imagine how spending it on something as frivolous as alcohol would make me feel. No. Whatever I spent on that was my own money. What little I had of it.”

It was Harry’s turn for his own face to grow warm. He hadn’t thought of it in that way. He still had more than enough of his parents’ money left to sustain his current lifestyle for quite a while, but one of Remus’s words in particular had almost seemed to make his heart hurt. _Squandered_. Was that really what he was doing? Harry supposed it was - he was doing nothing but throwing away his parents’ fortune, wasting it so he could go on living in a world of nothingness. Not that the money itself mattered. Of course it didn’t; it was only money. But how would Harry feel if he woke up one day to discover that everything his parents had left him (other than the protection of their love) was gone? Used up? Wasted? Squandered away like it had meant nothing?

When Harry had been at school, he’d practiced great self-control with his money, often passing up purchases that he could well afford because he really didn’t need them. He could distinctly remember not buying the brand new Firebolt even when he’d desperately wanted it, because he already had a perfectly good broom in his possession. Such a purchase would have been a waste anyway, because as luck would have it, it would have been completely torn to shreds by the Whomping Willow. Harry knew he would have felt particularly awful then. And then his godfather had seen fit to gift him with the very thing he’d wanted more than anything in the world at that moment (except perhaps, to be able to kill that godfather, but that was another story altogether).

Harry still had his beloved Firebolt. He hadn’t ridden it since…he couldn’t even remember when. Well before the final battle at any rate. He sighed heavily, remembering the much easier days of times gone by when a quick ride on his Firebolt would have chased away even the worst of moods. Now, things were a little bit more serious than that, much more complicated, but that didn’t mean he loved or appreciated his godfather’s generous gift to him any less. It still sat in his bedroom, hovering just above the floor in the corner nearest his bed, where he could be sure to see it whenever he awoke.

The funny thing was, Harry wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’s really looked at it. Oh, he’d noticed it out of the corner of his eye in passing, but he didn’t know that he’d truly seen it since setting there when he first moved in. Funny, the way things changed - how something that once brought him so much joy could sit nearly forgotten in the corner of his room.

Harry shook his head trying to pull himself from his own consuming thoughts. That was a dangerous thing, he was coming to find - allowing himself to be pulled into his own vicious thought processes. In an effort to try and distract himself from that, he asked the very next question that came into his mind.

“What made you…you said you learned your lesson?”

Remus frowned deeply, but nodded. He closed his eyes before revealing, “I had to dip into your father’s savings. Not for alcohol-” he added quickly, as if defending himself “-but because I had no food left and not enough money to buy any. So I guess technically your father’s money did go to the alcohol. It wasn’t a lot, but…it was enough.”

Remus sounded mortally ashamed of this, like he had just committed the most atrocious sin imaginable against one of his best friends. Harry wanted to tell him that he had nothing to be ashamed of, because what Harry was doing now was worse. Far worse. Remus had been left alone to fend for himself in the world. Harry still had more than enough people to lean on, and he was throwing them away too. He was purposely hurting them just to drive them away.

Harry, however, was unable to speak, unable to find his voice. And in some ways, he didn’t want to. He wanted to let Remus speak, to allow him to be heard. Perhaps Remus needed that after all these years, because Harry didn’t imagine his former professor had shared this much-too-private information with anyone else.

“I couldn’t do it anymore after that,” Remus went on. “I remember waking up one morning after having used some of your father’s money. It was one of my first sober moments in quite a while. I was hung over as all hell, but still very much lucid and coherent, because I‘d slept for such a long time. Normally, I woke up numerous times in the night to get myself a drink, because I couldn’t stand the feeling of waking up even the least bit sober. I felt an enormous sense of guilt, because I knew James wouldn’t have wanted me to use his money like that.”

It was the first time his father’s name had been mentioned in this conversation, and the instance of it almost felt like a punch in Harry’s stomach. Or perhaps it was the alcohol talking. He wasn’t sure. He rarely drank so much that he got sick (his tolerance was much too high by that point), so he figured that either way, this a sign that he’d had enough.

“He left it to me, because he wanted me to use it as I saw fit, yes,” Remus said, “but using it on something as wasteful as alcohol seemed like a dishonor to his memory. To your mum’s memory too.”

And that was exactly how Harry felt, down to the last little detail. Like his family - his mother and father - would be disappointed in him if they knew. Again, Harry knew they wouldn’t care about the money itself, but rather about him. What caring and loving parents would want to see their only child reduced to nothing more than a blabbering pile of drunkenness with a few barely-sober hours in between? They’d want him to go on to do great things. They’d want him to make them proud, or at least do something that made Harry happy. Not _squander_ away their sacrifice on such a meaningless existence.

And Harry _wasn’t_ happy. He could fool himself all he liked into believing that he needed booze right now, but the truth of the matter was that even that didn’t make him happy. Little did anymore. So perhaps it was time to find something that did, and…all it took was one look around the room to find just a few examples of that happiness. The woman he loved and his growing godson. All he had to do was accept it.

But still, Harry wondered about something. “And…you just stopped? Just like that?”

“Not quite.”

Harry grimaced, even though he had known fully well it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I’ll tell you what finally made me want to quit,” Remus said, giving Harry a knowing look. “It was those first few moments of true sobriety after the realization that I was dishonoring your parents. I knew at least a few months had passed, but if I’m honest with myself, I knew it was probably closer to a year. I hate that thought - that an entire year of my life could have just…disappeared like that. Could have been swallowed up by alcohol. And when I was finally able to think clearly again, I realized nothing was better. I was still hurting over the death of your parents and Peter, and Sirius’s betrayal like it had just happened the day before.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Harry protested.

“No,” Remus agreed, “and I didn’t mean to imply that there was. It can take a long time before we heal from losses like that, and however long it takes each of us…there’s nothing wrong with that. At all. But I’d dealt with death before, Harry. I lost both my parents before the age of eighteen. Perhaps the biggest losses I’d ever felt in my life. I’m not sure. What I was sure of was that while I was still hurting a year on from both of their deaths, it was a lot better than it was just after it happened. That pain wasn’t quite so raw anymore. But there I was, a year after losing your parents and Sirius and…my pain still felt like this giant gaping wound that had just happened. I didn’t feel the least bit better. Not even a little bit. It was still so…fresh.”

Remus paused, both in his words and in his pacing. He faced Harry fully again before continuing. “That was when I realized that I wasn’t doing anything to heal from what had happened, Harry. I was hiding from my pain. I was burying it under mounds and mounds of alcohol. While that made things easier in the short term, I didn’t want to wake up one day years, maybe even decades later, and still have this intense aching pain that I had never dealt with. That I still had to rely on alcohol to get rid of. That wasn’t what my parents would have wanted for me, and I knew that wasn’t what your parents would have wanted for me either.”

Ginny’s words from earlier that day suddenly came back to Harry - that he wasn’t dealing with his grief, only numbing it for a while. He had meant what he had said - that he just wasn’t ready to deal with it yet - but would he ever feel truly ready? He doubted very much that he would. He would continue to hide from his pain until he probably killed himself in an effort to make it stop.

Harry’s lower lip began to tremble. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and squeezed his eyes shut. Hanging his head, the tears that had welled up in his eyes immediately snuck between his eyelids and down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to be that person. He didn’t want to be a bitter, drunk old man that didn’t have anyone left, because he had pushed them all away. For the first time, Harry could see that happening - everyone abandoning him in an effort to get away from his problem, from his descent into destruction. As it was, yes, Harry knew he had been pushing people away, because it would be easier to continue on with his current path that way. But when he thought about being utterly and totally alone, that thought scared him more than it ever had. Remus had been left alone in a world against his will, and Harry was doing everything in his power to make that very thing happen to him. There was something very wrong with that. And ungrateful.

If Harry was alive today, it was only because of everything his friends and family had done for him. It was because of their love that he was still there, still breathing, and still able to return that love to them. Only he hadn’t been that a whole hell of a lot lately. They’d risked their lives, and some of them had indeed given up their lives for his, and this was how he repaid them. Not that sacrifices made out of love asked for anything in return. Love never expected repayment for such acts. But this was not what they would have wanted for Harry, what they would have wanted his life to become. He could see that clearly now more than ever. They hadn’t given up their lives so he could destroy his own.

Harry stood there for such a long time, sobs beginning to bubble up and spill out of him. What in Merlin’s name had he done to his life? What a disaster he’d made out of things when he could technically have and do anything he put his mind to. He just wasn’t doing a lot of that lately. He hadn’t been much of anything. Just drinking and…that was all. Drinking. That was all his life had become. It was quickly becoming devoid of any form of love - the very thing he felt so damn lucky to have once upon a time - and he was letting it.

“It’s not too late, Harry,” came Remus’s voice.

The sound startled Harry. So much time had passed, he was even beginning to wonder if Remus was still there at all. If he had perhaps gone back to where he had come from, or if Harry’s dream was changing and transforming around him into something else. Or maybe his delusional mind had decided to stop playing tricks on him.

Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Remus, his shoulders shaking from the sobs that were now growing to consume him. “But I…” Harry began, but he didn’t what he’d intended to say. He just didn’t think he was ready for that - to stop drinking, to go back to a time when that pain was so very real and intense. He was trying desperately to come up with an excuse, and there weren’t any. He knew that.

“You can do it, Harry,” Remus said firmly, nodding confidently. “I know you can.” He smiled wryly. “After everything you’ve been through…you can do anything.”

“I just…” Harry turned and glanced across the room at the cabinet that held his Firewhiskey. “I don’t know how,” were the words that he finally settled on to express what he was feeling. That was a good way to put it, he decided - he just didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of things.

Harry heard Remus’s footsteps behind him. A moment later, Remus’s very firm and real hand was resting on Harry’s shoulder again. “One day at a time,” Remus whispered. “And if even that feels like too much, then take it one minute at a time, or even one second at a time if you have to. And _every_ one of those seconds is a success, Harry, a triumph. Every single one, so celebrate them.”

Harry turned his head, again watching the dinner party continuing on like everything was normal. Only they seemed far away and smaller somehow. Andromeda, Ginny, and Teddy suddenly felt like they were a mile away instead of in the same room. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d thought that an Expanding Charm had just been done on the room, making it much larger than it had been before. Perhaps that was now why their noises and conversations were lost, muted by the distance.

“If you need help, Harry,” Remus said, gesturing towards the three others in the room, “lean on them. They love you and they want to help you. You know they do.”

Harry nodded and whimpered, “I don’t want to lose them.” He felt so stupid, so pathetic. He was a grown man, and he was standing in the middle of his kitchen crying.

“You don’t have to,” Remus reassured. Then, as if he was reading Harry’s mind yet again, he added, “Nor do you have to stop crying. Go ahead and let it out if you need to. I cried about a million tears over your parents and Sirius. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it can be quite cathartic.”

Harry knew that Remus only spoke the truth, and he believed him, but he choked back the sobs that still lingered in the back of his throat. There were things he wanted to say to Remus, things he needed him to know, and Harry felt like their time together was running precariously short.

Harry turned around fully, facing Remus. “I don’t want to lose you either,” Harry said. He meant a lot of things by that statement, but Remus seemed to understand them all and more.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He closed it again, taking a moment to think about his response. His eyes momentarily went to Teddy before he looked back at Harry. “Harry…” he said a bit breathlessly. He sighed and said, “I can’t stay. I think you know that. But it doesn’t mean you’ll ever lose me.”

Against Harry’s will, he sobbed again. Just once, a sound that punctuated the otherwise silent room.

“You won’t,” Remus reiterated. “Ever.” Remus rested his right hand on Harry’s shoulder again, and then raised his left one to Harry’s chest. Laying his palm over Harry’s heart, Remus said, “I’m always in here. Always.”

“What if that isn’t enough?” Harry knew it would never be enough; nothing ever would, not as long as Remus was dead.

“You can talk to me any time you want,” Remus tried. “I’m always listening. I may not answer, but I’ll hear you.”

Harry sucked in a shaky breath, yet another cry escaping from him. “I love you, Remus.” Harry felt unable to stand on his own two feet any longer. He thrust himself forward, pressing himself against Remus’s chest. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Remus’s waist and rested his head on Remus’s shoulder. God, even in this dream world, or delusional world, or whatever the hell it was, Remus’s robes were still soft, worn, and comforting like they always were.

Remus didn’t reply, and he seemed frozen to his spot for just a moment. After all, he and Harry had only hugged once before, but that had been under completely different circumstances. Remus probably felt a bit caught off guard and unprepared for this sudden display of affection from Harry.

That, however, didn’t seem to last. Before long, Remus had wrapped his own arms around Harry, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too, Harry,” Remus said quietly. He stated rocking Harry back and forth gently, trying to sooth the younger man’s sobs. “Before I had Teddy, you were always like the son I never had, you know. All the more reason you should be his godfather. In a way, you were already like his big brother.”

Harry’s throat was too tight to speak, his sobs quickly growing to overwhelm him, so he simply hugged Remus even more tightly in response.

“Watch over him, okay?” Remus requested.

Harry nodded, squeezing his eyes shut impossibly tighter. He knew this moment was fleeting, his time in Remus’s arms was ending, and he wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible.

Finally, with every last ounce of strength Harry thought he had, he promised, “I will. I will.”

_To be concluded…_


	4. Light

The next time Harry opened his eyes, it was to bright winter sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Harry squinted his eyes shut and covered them with a hand, cringing away from it. But then something occurred to him, and he dropped his hand, staring at the golden light in wonder. It had been such a long time since he had slept through the night. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d awoken to sunlight. It was always to darkness.

Harry looked at the other side of the bed, and there was Ginny, sound asleep. Although she was situated on the very opposite edge of the mattress, her back towards Harry. She obviously wasn’t feeling very keen on cuddling with the way things had ended between them last night, but at least she had come to bed at all and hadn‘t decided to sleep on the couch instead. That was something.

Harry sat up, and he was surprised with how much ease he was able to do it. He didn’t even have his usual headache that always started whenever he woke up after a long night of drinking and began moving around. God, was this what it was like to not be drunk or hung over? It had been so long since he’d been this sober, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

Looking to the bottle that was still sitting on his bedside table, Harry felt just a little bit disgusted with himself. Was that what he had been devoting his life to these last few months - nothing but bottles? He’d been neglecting his girlfriend and his godson and for what? For a poison he’d been pouring into his body. No wonder Ginny had been so angry with him.

Everything that had happened the night before still seemed so clear to him, even though he had been drunk out of his mind for most of it. Perhaps that was the turning point for him - it was the blissfulness of being able to forget that made continuing to drink so easy. He couldn’t even do that anymore.

Harry could remember his fight with Ginny, almost word for word, and then coming upstairs to drink until he passed out. And then…

Jesus, what in the hell had happened? Harry still remembered it so clearly, but his mind ran through about a million different possibilities. Had he really been dreaming? Had Remus really been standing in his bedroom? Harry glanced across the room, to the spot on the carpet where Remus had appeared just last night. It was completely empty now. Not that Harry had been expecting to see Remus again; rather, he was trying to figure out if he was losing his mind.

Had he truly seen Remus? Really? He didn’t know, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. All of Remus’s words, their entire conversation seemed to hang with perfectly clarity in the center of Harry’s mind. Remus had done what he’d come to do, Harry supposed.

Throwing one last glance back at Ginny, Harry reached out for his bottle of Firewhiskey. Even at arm’s length, Harry could smell it - a vicious odor that burned his nostrils. Had he really been drinking that? He couldn’t imagine even being able to tolerate it when the smell of it was currently making him feel ill.

Making a decision, Harry got up and strode towards the door. He didn’t even notice that Ginny herself had awoken, watching Harry leave the room with bottle in hand.

Following the path that Remus had led him on earlier, Harry headed down to the kitchen. It was empty now, completely devoid of any evidence that there had been a dinner there the night before. Ginny could never go to bed if there were any dirty dishes in the house, so as always, she’d cleaned them and put them all away before heading upstairs for the night.

Harry set his bottle down on the counter next to the sink. Then he bent over, opened up what had become his liquor cabinet, and withdrew the last bottle of Firewhiskey he had left in the house. He set it down next to the first one and opened it. Again, he was surprised by how much easier this was when he wasn’t the slightest bit inebriated.

Once it was open, he picked up both bottles, one in each hand. He stepped over to the sink and turned them both upside-down. He watched the amber liquid pour out and swirl around in the basin before disappearing down the drain. He knew it was a waste of money, to throw it out without even consuming it, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to keep it in the house as a temptation any longer.

Surprisingly, instead of feeling afraid of losing his one and only crutch, Harry began to feel free. With every ounce, every drop of Firewhiskey that the drain carried away, Harry felt like a tiny part of his current vice was falling away, releasing him.

When the bottles were both empty, Harry set them back down on the counter. He stared at them for a while, wondering what in the hell he should drink now if it wasn’t Firewhiskey. Not that he wanted alcohol anymore. Quite the contrary. He was just so used to drinking something, it felt a bit strange to not have a beverage of any sort. Perhaps the first step to sobriety (other than getting rid of the alcohol) was to find a suitable substitute.

Harry glanced around the kitchen for ideas. On the other end of the counter sat their teapot and coffeepot right next to each other. Harry didn’t exactly feel like tea at the moment, so he set about making coffee.

He hadn’t had coffee in a long time. Ever since he’d started drinking, he had come to hate it, because it had the complete opposite effect of alcohol. But the truth was, he’d loved coffee once upon a time, so perhaps it was time to rediscover it. Besides, he knew he needed the energy for his first day of sobriety in months ahead of him. That one was always the hardest, wasn’t it? Not that Harry would know, but he suspected he might be right. It made sense to him.

When it was finished brewing, Harry took his first cup of coffee in months upstairs with him. First, he headed to the study where he had something very important waiting for him.

It had been sitting on his desk for months, pretty much since the war had ended, forgotten and ignored - his application to the Auror Academy. Actually, a lot of things had been forgotten and ignored lately. Important things that he had no right to neglect in the way he had. Things that he’d been taking for granted for a long time.

Harry decided that if he was really serious about trying to improve his life from this point on, then his first order of business should be trying to get a job. His dream, once upon a time, had been becoming an Auror, but that too had been neglected. Harry realized that he still wanted to be an Auror - he couldn’t imagine doing anything else - but it had just been overshadowed by the demon that had grown to consume him.

That was what his alcohol had become - a demon. Just like his depression had swallowed up a lot of things in his life, so had the booze. It had taken away his friends and his family, forcing him into isolation, because he hadn’t been fit to be around them lately. And that was the alcohol’s doing, not the depression. Up until Christmas, he had still been socializing at least a little bit. But since then, the alcohol had taken on a life of its own.

Just like he needed a substitute drink, he needed a substitute occupation. Instead of drinking himself into oblivion everyday, maybe he could be training to catch dark wizards. Auror training was hard, as was the job itself, which would provide the perfect distraction. Perhaps that had been the problem - Harry hadn’t had enough to do lately. He hadn’t been doing much of anything for months, except drink. No wonder he was depressed.

And Harry realized something else. Yes, he had lost a lot of people in the war, and he was still in pain. But there were - there were always going to be - dark wizards still out there. Hopefully not as horrible and as powerful as Voldemort had been, but as long as human life went on, dark wizards were inevitable. Harry knew he could do something to make a difference, so it was pretty damn selfish of him to wallow in his own self-pity. Perhaps Harry could actually prevent someone else from losing a loved one to evil, and that thought was like a fire erupting in Harry’s heart.

He wanted this. For as long as he had known what an Auror was he had wanted to become one, and more so than he wanted to forget his problems. He knew that now, and it was time to go after it.

Harry withdrew a bottle of ink and a quill from the desk drawer and sat down. He spent the next half an hour painstakingly filling out his application, doing so as neatly and precisely as he could. Once Harry was done, he read it through over and over again, making sure that every single thing was answered to the best of his ability. This was the first time in a long time that anything felt important to him, and he wanted it to show in his written words.

With his heart pounding in excitement, Harry sent it off with the morning post owl. He stood at the window, watching the bird disappear into the distance until it was nothing more than a black speck on the horizon. He didn’t know if he was more scared or eager at the possibility of become an Auror. All he did know that this was the first positive thing he had done for himself in months and maybe, just maybe, it would change his life for the better.

Trying to calm himself down - he most likely wouldn‘t hear anything back for months, after all - Harry crossed the hall to the sitting room. He started a fire and pulled up a chair. Coffee cup still in hand, he sat down in front of the glowing warmth, wondering where in the hell his life had taken such a drastic detour.

But he knew. He knew exactly when it had started. Not long after the final battle - perhaps a month or so later, but he couldn’t quite remember anymore - Harry had gone out to “celebrate” with Ron and Hermione. It had still been too soon to celebrate, even with the fact that Voldemort was gone. Harry was still grieving so hard over the casualties of the war, but Ron and Hermione had thought that a little celebration was exactly what they needed.

They’d gone out to a pub - the first time Harry had ever been to one - and Harry had gotten a little out of hand. He’d had a few too many drinks and had started sobbing openly and telling anyone who would listen about how much he had lost. It made Harry cringe now to think about it, to wonder what, in all that was holy, those people must have thought of him.

But then the more Harry drank, the less certain things began to hurt. An overwhelming numbness took him over, so he continued to drink more in an effort to perpetuate that feeling. He vaguely remembered Ron and Hermione taking him home, and Ginny helping him to bed, and then…nothing. The rest of the night had gone blissfully black and nonexistent until he’d sobered up.

Once he had, Harry had immediately gone out to buy some more Firewhiskey to recapture that fleeting numbness. Thus a vicious cycle had begun. He‘d had a taste of the numbness alcohol could offer him, and he‘d wanted more.

He knew Ron and Hermione felt bad about that now, for pressuring him to go out at all now when he clearly hadn’t been ready. They’d apologized to both Harry and Ginny for it in the past few months. Not that Harry or Ginny blamed them in the least. They had been trying to help him, and as Ginny put it, Harry was a grown man. No one had forced the alcohol down his throat, just as no one had forced him to keep on drinking. Perhaps it was time to let Ron and Hermione know that - that Harry’s descent into madness wasn‘t anyone‘s fault but his own.

And then there was the matter of Teddy. Harry had a lot of lost time to make up for. He’d already missed so many milestones in his godson’s life, and Harry intended to put a stop to that. He wondered if Teddy would even remember him, but it definitely wasn’t too late to turn things around. Teddy was still young, and Harry was going to make sure that he was there for every single landmark that lay in Teddy’s future.

“I underestimated you.”

Harry jumped. He’d been so consumed in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice that Ginny had entered the room. She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked angry, and why shouldn’t she? After last night, Harry would be mad at himself as well. In fact, he was.

“Two bottles of Firewhiskey in one night?” Ginny asked incredulously. “Really? God, you must be plastered. Did you go out and get more yet? I‘m amazed you can even walk.”

“I haven’t had a drop,” Harry said carefully, making a point of the fact that he wasn‘t slurring his words whatsoever. “Not since I went upstairs last night.”

“Oh, Harry, how stupid do you think I am?” Ginny threw up her arms, letting them drop to her side in annoyance. “Both bottles of Firewhiskey are _empty_ , and I certainly didn’t drink it!”

“Neither did I,” Harry replied firmly, hoping against hope that she would believe him. He realized how little of her trust remained in him. “I poured it down the drain when I woke up this morning. All of it.”

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. She frowned, her eyes going from his face down to the empty mug on the floor at his feet.

“It was coffee,” Harry said. He suddenly got to his feet, deciding that perhaps it was time to prove it to her further. He slowly crossed the room to her, but once he was within arm’s reach, she turned away from him. She covered her mouth with her hand, like she was about to be ill.

“Ginny.” Harry reached out, gently wrapping a hand around her wrist. He slowly turned her to face him, looking deeply in her eyes. “Do I look drunk to you?”

Ginny’s eyes went back and forth across his face, searching him, watching for any sign that he was even the least bit tipsy. She opened her mouth, let out of soft gasp, and then closed it again. She shook her head in confusion and asked, “You’re really not?”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “I swear I haven’t had any since I went upstairs last night. And I don’t intend to have anymore either.”

She kept watching him, like he was the most curious thing she had ever seen in her life. Perhaps he was. It had been a long time since a very sober Harry had stood in front of her. Ginny’s mouth kept opening and closing like a fish, and Harry would have giggled if not for the seriousness of the situation.

“What…I don’t…understand…” Ginny tried, but stopped. She pressed a hand over and her eyes and finally forced out, “Why? Why now? What’s changed from yesterday when you were so determined to continue with this?”

That was the question Harry had been dreading. He heaved a sigh and glanced away in embarrassment. He could feel his cheeks growing warm. “You’ll think I’m mad.”

“Try me.”

Harry fidgeted for a while, trying to find a good way of putting it. “I had…” Harry left out a soft breath of laughter. “Actually, I’m not sure what I had.” Ginny didn’t look amused, but curious and concerned, so Harry tried his best to put his experience into words. “I think…” Harry paused, afraid of Ginny’s reaction, but he made himself go on. “I think…Remus may have visited me last night.”

Silence rang out, Ginny’s eyes continuing to search his own. She was doing it again - looking like a fish, unable to find the words. Finally, she just asked, “ _What_?” her voice caught somewhere in between shock, disbelief, and awe.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Harry admitted. “It even sounds crazy to me, and I’m the one it happened to.” He frowned and said, “I don’t even know what ‘it’ was. Whether Remus was really there, or I was dreaming, or maybe even hallucinating…I don’t know. All I do know is that whatever it was, it was powerful.” Harry said all of this in hurry, because he felt the need to explain it to Ginny before she decided that he really was insane. “But…Remus came to me after I fell asleep last night. Or after I passed out is a better way of putting it. He woke me up and…we talked. For a long time. About of a lot of things.”

Harry stopped himself, because he suddenly realized that he didn’t really want to talk about his and Remus’s conversation in detail. Harry felt rather protective of it, like it had been a special and private moment just between the two of them, and he wanted to keep it that way. Besides, Remus had told him a lot of very personal things, ones that Harry was pretty sure he’d never told anyone else before. Harry didn’t want to tarnish Remus’s memory by spreading those things around to other people.

Changing gears a bit, Harry explained, “Long story short, he told me that this isn’t…the way to be living.” He closed his eyes, the memories of the conversation flowing back to him. “That isn’t good for me - although I suspect I already knew that - and that I’ve missed out on a lot of good things. And that if I continue on this path, I’m going to miss out on a lot more, and pretty soon, I’m going to come to regret it.”

“That’s-”

“-What you’ve been saying,” Harry cut Ginny off gently. He tried smiling sheepishly in an effort to soothe the anger in her that he suspected was building again. “I know. And I’m sorry. I…maybe I needed the shock of seeing Remus again to knock some sense into me. I don’t know.” Harry’s vision began to blur with tears, and his breathing turned a bit ragged. “Or maybe he’s one of the only people that would have been able to get through to me, because he was one of the only role models I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Harry.” Ginny gripped Harry’s hand tightly and closed the distance between them. She looked up at him, almost like she wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t. She was afraid still, Harry suspected.

“I’m sorry,” Harry gulped out again. “I’m sorry.” He ducked his head a bit, pressing his cheek against the side of Ginny’s head. Her hair was so soft again his skin, and it had been such a long time since he had felt it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he and Ginny had been this close, let alone hugged or kissed. “I know I’ve said and done things that have hurt you.” He sucked in a sudden hiccup of air, only this time, he was proud of the fact that it had nothing to do with alcohol. “I’ve been a downright git, and I know it.”

Ginny pulled away slightly, glancing up at him searchingly. “You want to quit? Really?”

Harry nodded slowly and firmly. He met her eyes and without looking away, he said, “I really do.” He waited for a long time before continuing. Besides, they were both well aware of the truth, which hung in the air between like some horrible dark cloud about to burst. Harry knew he really didn’t have to bring it to the forefront - it was already well understood at this point - but he decided that this was something they needed to talk about. It really wouldn’t be very healthy to sweep it under the rug and to pretend that it was less of a problem than it really was.

“But I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” Harry finally forced out. He hated saying those words, hated admitting these things. Up until now, he’d always tried to play this off, to try and make it seem must less serious than it was. He and Ginny both knew the truth, however, and perhaps it was time to confront them.

Ginny looked slightly scared and disappointed at his words, even though she had clearly been expecting them. She lowered her eyes from his face and let out a hard exhalation of air.

“I’m going to try,” Harry promised, reaching up a hand and pressing a few of his fingers to her cheek. “I am. I’m going try harder than I’ve ever tried to do anything before in my life. Because I don’t want to keep missing out on everything that I have been. I don’t. Time with you, and Teddy, and Ron, and Hermione - I haven’t seen them in ages either,” he sighed. “I don’t want to wake up in fifty years old and alone, because I let this problem overtake my life.”

Harry paused, screwing up every last ounce of courage he had to get out the next part. He felt embarrassment exploding from his stomach and flaring to consume his body. He’d crawl under the sofa and disappear from the world if he could. “And that’s what it is,” he said slowly, carefully. “That’s what it became despite my best efforts to try and deny it - a problem.” He shut his eyes, unable to hold Ginny’s glance when he finally admitted, “I have a problem.”

Ginny didn’t say anything in response, but instead, she threw herself against Harry, nearly knocking him over in the process. Not for the first time that day, Harry was very glad he was sober, otherwise he would have just toppled to the floor. He stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his balance, wrapping his arms tightly around Ginny. She hugged him around the waist and tucked her head under his chin. This was something she used to do a lot when they had first gotten together, but hadn’t for a very long time. A position that, despite the toll the past several months had taken on their relationship, still felt completely natural and comfortable, like they were two pieces of a puzzle that had just come together.

“You’re not alone in this,” she said, her voice slightly muffled against his pajamas. “You never have been. I’ll help you. Ron and Hermione will help you.” She glanced up at him, tears shining in her eyes and a brilliant smile on her lips. “You know we’re always here for you.”

“I know.” Harry lifted a hand and placed it on the back of Ginny’s head, then he laid a gentle kiss to her hair. Just like with everything else between them, it was the first time in months he’d done so, and he vaguely wondered when they’d be able to share a real kiss again. Not one on the other’s hair or hand, but an actual kiss where they crushed their lips together like there was no tomorrow. Like they were in love and couldn’t get enough of each other.

Harry wondered if even that was true anymore. Oh, he still loved Ginny deeply, and he doubted very much whether that would ever change, but he wasn’t so sure she still felt the same way. After all, he’d been trying to push her away, and even though she was still there, it didn’t mean her feelings still were. If he was her, he’d be beyond furious with himself, and he didn’t know what he could possibly do to make that better for her.

Deciding that the wondering just might make him crazy - if he wasn’t already - Harry resolved to try and focus on the present instead. Not what tomorrow or the next day might hold, or even the next few minutes. Just now. Just getting through one minute at a time. That was what he’d already promised himself, wasn’t it? Promised Remus?

“That’s something I didn’t want to see,” Harry admitted. “I tried convincing myself that you would all eventually abandon me. In fact, I was doing my best to make you do just that. It would have been so much easier to let alcohol consume my life if you weren’t there to try and stop me.”

“Harry,” she said, pulling away from him so she could look up into his eyes again, “if being the Chosen One wasn’t enough to push us away, then I doubt anything is.”

Harry supposed that was true. He thought of the hell that Ron and Hermione had been through with him the year before when they’d gone with him to search for the Horcruxes. They didn’t have to help him, and parts of Harry thought they shouldn’t have. That had been his fight, but they’d chosen to help him, because he couldn’t do it alone. He needed them, and they’d risen to the occasion like best friends do. Except for a brief break from Ron, they had been in it together, and Harry knew that Ginny would have been too if she had been able.

“Perhaps not,” Harry whispered. He waited for a long time, not sure if he should voice his thoughts further. He’d already admitted that he had a problem, true, but this was going beyond that. This was going into that territory where it was going to be harder to go back on his word. Not that he wanted to. That was the very last thing he wanted right now, but he knew it was a possibility. Just like before, if that time ever came, he knew he’d be looking for the opportunity to eliminate any all obstacles that stood in his way. But no. If he was really serious about this - and he was - then he needed to be honest with her. He needed to come clean.

“But maybe,” he said hesitantly, “I should…” He didn’t go on for a very long time. He put it off for as long as he dared, but Ginny waited, continuing to look up at him patiently. Harry knew there was no turning back, that it was all or nothing now. He couldn’t possibly back-pedal, because all of his words and actions in the last half hour would seem insincere. He needed to take a stand. “Maybe I should talk to somebody. Get some kind of help or something.”

Ginny’s eyes were still glowing with unshed tears, but now there was something else that was present in her features. It was something Harry hadn’t seen from her in such a long time, but he’d recognize it anywhere. It was the same expression Remus had given him only the night before - pride.

“You have no idea how much bravery it took for you to admit that, do you?” she asked him.

Harry didn’t reply, because he suspected she already knew what he‘d wanted to say. Her certainly didn’t feel brave. He felt embarrassed, and ashamed, and useless, and weak, and stupid. Anything but brave. He’d defeated Voldemort for heaven’s sake, and now he couldn’t even help himself. He’d just spent the last several months in and out of drunken stupors, because he had been too helpless to stop himself. Harry couldn’t even remember ever asking for help in his life, even when he knew he desperately needed it, because he’d felt like he had something to prove. And now he couldn’t even do that much.

He’d been self-sufficient from a very young age. He had to be, because the Dursleys had left him with little choice in the matter. He’d had to grow up and take care of himself, because no one else was going to do it for him, and now here he was - admitting he needed help when he’d never done so before. What the hell was the matter with him?

“Harry,” Ginny said. She had pulled out of their embrace and instead rested her hands comfortably on Harry’s upper arms. She squeezed them gently in encouragement. “Haven’t you ever heard that admitting you need help is the biggest and most courageous step for an addict?”

“I guess,” Harry mumbled. He lifted his foot off the floor and scuffed his toe into the carpet uncomfortably. “I just…I never ask for help. Even when I desperately needed it. I wanted to go off and hunt for those Horcruxes by myself.” He shook his head. “I never would have made it a day without Hermione and your brother. I know that now, and I think I knew it then, but…I still wanted to do it myself. Because it was my fight. And I was tired of other people making sacrifices for me. I would have even fought the entire war by myself if I could have. I never-”

Ginny silenced him by pressing a finger over his lips. “The war is over,” she said quietly, but there was something in her voice that hinted at the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure of that fact. Just the same as Harry, she too must have wondered if it would ever really be over. If they would ever be completely free of the hardships it had brought to them. As much as he hated that, Harry was glad, he supposed, that she realized that too. He didn’t think anything would be worse in that moment than trying to gloss over that knowledge.

After pausing for a moment, Ginny asked, “Where’s the sacrifice in this? What will I, or anyone else for that matter, lose by trying to help you through this?”

At first, Harry couldn’t answer, but he knew he had a reason. He always had an answer for this sort of thing - excuses as to why people shouldn‘t help him - but this time, he was left fumbling for it. “I-” he tried in an effort to spur himself on, but he lost his train of thought just as quickly. “Because,” he finally just settled on, feeling his cheeks growing even warmer than they had been. “It’s a waste of your time?” He hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, and he nearly wanted to kick himself for it. “You have better things to do with your time than to let yourselves be brought down by my problems. You‘d all be much happier.” Yeah, _that sounded good_ , he thought, except that it didn’t.

“You don’t realize, do you?”

“Realize what?”

“That your problems _are_ my problems. That your happiness _is_ my happiness.” Ginny smiled, moving the hand that had been on his lips to his neck instead. She cupped it gently, reassuringly. “That’s what relationships are about. That’s what friendships are about. To be there for each other and help each other, even - and _especially_ \- during difficult times. That’s what I want to do, Harry. I want to help you through this. Nothing would make me happier than if we got through this together. It would make us all the more stronger.”

“I guess,” Harry said again, and he sighed. She gave him a doubtful look and he exclaimed, “I do! I know it seems like I’m just saying that, but I’m really not. You know if you had the drinking problem, I’d be jumping through hoops to try and help you through it. And here I am, trying every which way to wiggle out of taking that very same help from you. Or anyone else. I’m a hypocrite, I know.”

“And stubborn as a mule,” Ginny said affectionately.

“That too.” Harry had no problem in admitting that much anyway. It was one of the things he prided in himself, because he thought it was one of the things that kept him going throughout the war.

Ginny buried her head in his chest again, closing her eyes and reveling in the fact that she was having a conversation with _her_ Harry. The Harry that she’d been missing for many months now. She knew that he still had a long road of recovery ahead of him, she wasn’t going to deny that, but this gave her a little bit of hope. This was _her_ Harry, the one she’d fallen in love with, poking through the rough and angry exterior that the alcohol had built up around him like a cocoon. He was still in there.

Ginny hugged him again, even more tightly this time, and she said, “Please let me help you, Harry. Let Ron and Hermione help you, and anyone else you need. That’s what we’re here for you, that’s why we’re your friends. And let us do for you what you’re always willing to do for us, what you have done for us - go to the ends of the earth for us.”

Harry knew exactly what she was referring to. She always said that the hunt for the Horcruxes was similar to going to the ends of the earth - trekking all over creation and living in the middle of nowhere for months in order to find those damn things. Part of that had been done out of Harry’s own quest for survival, yes, but that certainly wasn’t all of it. It was because he wouldn’t just lie down and let Voldemort take over the world without a fight. Harry was the one who could stop him, and he was going to do his very best to do so before he killed any more people.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry hugged her back closely. How had he ever gotten so lucky to have someone so damn persistent in his life? Someone who wasn’t willing to let him ruin his own life without a fight? It was in that moment that something broke inside Harry. He clung to Ginny like he was holding on for dear life as another sob escaped him.

“Help me,” he requested in such a small voice, it might have come from a little boy. He was willingly asking for help for the first time in his life, and he wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t know where that fear had gone, the fear that the world might stop if he admitted he needed help, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to get through this, he wanted his life back, and his own pride didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Not as much as his very life.

“You don’t even need to ask,” Ginny said, running a comforting hand up and down his back.

Harry tried to hold the tears back, but he couldn’t. They began leaking out of his eyes and down his cheeks to drip on the top of Ginny’s hair. He started sobbing in earnest, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop. Just like he had with Remus the night before, he was losing all control.

Ginny guided him to the couch and sat down next to him. She kept her arms around him the entire time, holding him firmly and letting him sob into her shoulder. Harry didn’t even know how much time had passed, but he was vaguely aware that the shadows thrown by the sun had moved quite a bit across the floor since Ginny had first entered the room. When Harry hadn’t even been sure that he’d be able to get Ginny to believe him, and now here she was, holding him as he cried for help. For redemption.

When he’d calmed down enough to pull away, to feel up to the task of sitting up on his own, Harry pulled off his glasses. He wiped at his eyes and at his face, feeling much calmer than he’d felt before. He wasn’t even feeling embarrassed any longer about asking for help or about crying into his girlfriend’s shoulder. He knew he didn’t need to be. Not with Ginny. Not with the woman he loved. Not with the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

Harry started grinning. He’d never really admitted to himself before that that was what he wanted from his relationship with Ginny - to spend his life with her. He supposed that it had been in the back of his mind for a while, but he’d never consciously thought about it before. At least, not when he’d been stone cold sober. It was an exhilarating feeling. God, was this the sort of thing he’d been missing all along?

“What?” Ginny asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Harry said, his grin still as wide as ever. He sort of wanted to tell her how he felt, but then again, he didn’t. That was a very special thing to admit to someone, and he didn’t think this was really the best time to do so. He wanted that occasion to be special, and the morning when he decided that he wanted to be sober wasn’t exactly what he wanted them to remember.

In an attempt to divert attention away from this, he ducked his head and ran a hand through this hair. “God, I’m emotional lately,” he said, hoping that his grin would pass for embarrassment.

Ginny still had a hand on his back, rubbing at it soothingly. “You’ve been covering up your emotions for such a long time. Now that you’re not numbing them down with alcohol, they’re all just pouring out.”

“It actually doesn’t feel that bad,” Harry said, sounding surprised. He laughed softly. “I don’t know what I’ve been hiding from.” He frowned in thought. “In a way, this feels much better than being drunk. It’s harder, yeah, but…it’s realer.” That was the only word he could think of to describe it. “Perhaps I was afraid of the idea of feeling things more so than the actual feelings.” He placed a hand on her cheek and added, “When I’m sober, I can have a conversation with you. A good conversation, which is something we haven’t had in a while.”

“Neither is this,” she said, and before he could even react, she leaned forward. She kissed him and reached up a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer still.

Harry was startled at first, but just as quickly, that feeling was being replaced by sheer happiness. God, she was kissing him again, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again. He’d wanted to kiss her for the duration of this entire conversation, but he’d been afraid, because he didn’t want to push her. They still had a lot of issues between them to resolve, and he wanted to let her go at her own pace. They would return to normal relationship forms of affection when she was ready and not a moment sooner. And now here she was, kissing him like she had that first time in her bedroom at the Burrow.

Harry kissed her back, cupping both her cheeks now with his hands. He wanted to convey everything he was feeling but didn’t quite feel ready to say - that he wanted to grow old with her. That he wanted to still be with her when they were as old as Dumbledore. That thought sent him into a fit of giggles, causing him to pull away from her.

Ginny stared at him, one of her eyebrows going up in confusion.

“I just love you,” he offered by way of an explanation. He hadn’t said those words to her in such a long time, and a huge rush of emotions went through him at the same moment. Merlin, how could he have ever preferred being drunk to this? To living life? He really must have been mad.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. She wrapped her arms around one of his and rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

Harry let out another cry, but this time, it was out of happiness rather than grief. They didn’t say anything more for a long time, but just sat there enjoying each other’s presence. That was yet another thing they hadn’t done in a very long time. Harry had missed it.

After a while, Harry decided to tell her more about his plans for getting through this. It was nice to get lost in love with Ginny for a little while, but he still had a huge challenge ahead of him, and he knew it.

“I, erm, I sent my application to the Auror Academy.”

Ginny brightened again, sitting up straighter and grinning at him. “You did?” She’d been trying to get him to do so since the war had ended. Perhaps she had even seen something like his drinking problem coming, and she had been trying to get him involved in something before it had a chance to take hold of him.

“Yeah,” he said proudly. “I filled it out this morning as soon as I woke up. After I poured all the Firewhiskey out. I think it’ll help me if I have something important like that to focus on.”

Ginny nodded. “I do too. And the application is only a formality. You know they’ll take you.”

Harry hated even remotely admitting that he was that good, but he’d known that. He’d just killed one of the most dangerous dark wizards that had ever lived. Of course the Auror Academy would want him.

“Maybe that was why I was afraid of applying at first,” Harry admitted. “I was afraid of being accepted and then…failing, I guess. Not doing a good enough job to live up to my reputation. A lot of what happened with Voldemort was a bunch of dumb luck, you know. I didn‘t know what I was doing half the time. I still don‘t. And most of the time, I had someone to help me.”

“You can do it, Harry,” Ginny said confidently. “I know you can. I wouldn’t be so for the idea if I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t think I was going to get my fool self killed, you mean.”

“Harry,” she scolded gently. She didn’t like to hear him talk like that. Ginny was well aware of the fact that his chosen career path was dangerous, and she wasn’t about to fool herself into believing that it wasn’t. But she knew that this was what he wanted to do, and they both knew it would make him happy in the long run. That was all she wanted for him - his happiness - and whatever else was in store for them, they’d deal with it when the time came. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear him planning his funeral.

“I know,” Harry said, “and I know I can do it, too. Contrary to what some people may think, I _don’t_ have a death wish, and I wouldn’t _want_ to do this if I thought I was going to die. But it’s still scary. I mean, this is what I want to do with my life. What if it doesn’t work out? What in the bloody hell am I going to do then?”

Ginny didn’t reply right away, but a few moments later, she randomly offered, “Become a teacher?”

“ _What_?” Harry burst out laughing. When he tried to imagine himself being a teacher - a teacher like _Remus_ , one of the people he looked up to most in the world - it made his brain feel like it was breaking. He snickered some more.

“Why not?”

Harry stared at her like she had potatoes pouring out of her ears. “After all the things I got up to while I was at school, you ask why not?”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a good teacher,” she said confidently. “Remember Dumbledore’s Army at all?”

Harry blinked. “Well, yeah, but…that was just a bunch of kids goofing around!”

“It was a lot more than just goofing, and you know it.”

Not for the first time that day, Harry felt stunned into silence. He felt the urge to keep disagreeing with her, but he couldn’t for some reason. He couldn’t come up with any excuses at all. He tried to imagine himself standing up at the front of a classroom just like Remus, and the image even made him smile. Could he really do that? He wasn’t quite sure.

“You do,” Ginny said knowingly, a hint of laughter in her own voice.

“I just…never imagined that.” Harry’s voice was distant, lost in thought. He laughed again. “What would Remus say?”

“I’m sure he’d be very proud.”

Those words made Harry’s stomach squirm in an almost pleasant way. God, that was all he’d wanted for such a long time. As much as Remus tried to insist that he’d never be disappointed in Harry, Harry wondered if that was altogether true. Harry knew Remus wouldn’t lie to him, but it was still hard to believe that anyone could be proud of him now. But he was determined to change that. He wasn’t going to let this addiction beat him. He wasn’t going to let this war claim another victim. He wasn’t going to let Voldemort kill him like he’d killed so many other people. He wouldn’t! Harry’s hands clenched into fists as he felt resolve course through him.

“Harry?” Ginny asked in concern, her eyes going to his fists.

“I’m going to do this, Ginny,” he said. He straightened up in his chair and promised, “I’m going to get past this. I’m going to turn my life around. I swear I am.”

That expression was back - the one of pride that he was coming to like from her. She tightened her grip around his upper arm. “I know you will. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

Harry suddenly stood up, pulling out of her grasp. “Wanna come?” he asked.

“W-where?”

“I have some things to put right,” he said. “I have a couple of best friends to visit that I haven’t seen in a long time, and after that…my godson. He needs me. He needs me in his life the way I needed his father.”

Ginny let out a breathless laugh, her eyes filling with tears again. Only this time, they were from happiness. A few of them spilled down her cheeks as she nodded. She wiped them away and said, “Just do me a favor first.”

“Hm?”

“Get cleaned up and get dressed first. You look atrocious.”

Harry looked down at himself, and he realized he’d been wearing the same pajamas for…quite a while now. He wasn’t even sure how long it had been since he’d last changed his clothes or taken a shower. The details were lost in the blackness that he’d been so desperate for just a few days ago. How could he have ever preferred _that_ to this? To his life and to his friends, to the joys that he still had left?

Harry grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

Ginny watched him leave the room, sighing contently, because there was a spring in his step that she hadn‘t seen for such a long time. Still, she knew they had quite a journey in front of them, and that Harry had a long way to go, but this was more than she’d ever hoped for. She never thought she’d wake up one day to find _her_ Harry back and intent on turning his life around. It was promising to say the least, and she knew they could do this. And she wasn’t giving up until she saw Harry through this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon entering his bedroom, Harry promptly crossed the room to his dresser to get some clean clothes out. He stooped down to open a drawer, but then he froze in his tracks. His eyes had fallen on the picture of himself and Remus sitting out by the lake at Hogwarts, but something seemed amiss about it. When Colin had taken it, Harry and Remus had been engaged in a rather deep conversation, so their expressions weren’t necessarily happy, but…

If Harry wasn’t imagining things, he thought Remus’s expression was just the tiniest bit brighter than had been before. Had it always looked like that? Wizarding pictures moved, yes, but Harry was hard-pressed to remember Remus ever appearing so happy in this picture. Harry had spent hours upon hours staring at this picture. It was one of his favorites, and he liked spending time memorizing the synchronicities of it, but this was something he’d honestly never noticed before.

Was it too much to believe that Remus was already feeling proud of the changes Harry was intent on making? Harry hoped so, because he wanted nothing more than to make Remus happy, to prove to him that he hadn’t made the wrong choice in naming him Teddy’s godfather.

Remus would never regret his choice, Harry knew that. Remus had already promised he had no negative feelings towards Harry, but Harry realized that maybe it was himself he had something to prove to. To show himself and Remus that he could be a good and dependable godfather.

Harry knew he could do it. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, he was determined to see this through. After all, he’d already defeated Voldemort and survived when no one else ever had. It wasn’t so hard to believe that he could survive this as well, was it?

_The end_


End file.
